{"product_id":"the-legion-of-flame-isbn-9781101987919","title":"The Legion of Flame","description":"\u003cb\u003eSurvival is the only currency...\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e For centuries, the vast Ironship Trading Syndicate relied on drake blood—and the extraordinary powers it confers to those known as the Blood-blessed—to fuel and protect its empire. But when the drake blood lines began to fail, a perilous expedition was mounted to secure them. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Claydon Torcreek survived the fraught mission through uncharted lands in pursuit of a myth that might have secured his people’s future. Instead he found a nightmare. The legendary White Drake was awoken from a millennia-long slumber, with a thirst to reduce the world of men to ashes, and the power to compel an army of Spoiled slaves to do it.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Spurred on by a vision he desperately hopes he can trust, Clay and rebel naval officer Corrick Hilemore hijack a warship and head towards the icy southern seas, searching for an ancient secret that may give them and their allies a fighting chance. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey are aided on another front by Blood-blessed agent Lizanne Lethridge. The spy and assassin will use her diplomatic status to infiltrate deep into enemy territory on a quest for a device to save them all.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e As the world burns around them, and the fires of revolution are ignited, these few Blood-blessed are the last hope for all of civilisation.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Waking Fire\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eThe Waking Fire\u003c\/i\u003e is a marvellous piece of imagination with plenty of twists, a refreshingly different setting and excellent world-building. A great read.”—Mark Lawrence, author of \u003ci\u003eRed Sister\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A bright and magical world for you to explore along with the wonderfully woven prose as a guide through what is sure to be another fantasy classic.”—The Huffington Post (UK)\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Part \u003ci\u003eIndiana Jones\u003c\/i\u003e, part \u003ci\u003ePirates of the Caribbean\u003c\/i\u003e and part \u003ci\u003eMistborn\u003c\/i\u003e. It’s got wonderful, memorable characters and great action…I loved it.”—Django Wexler, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Guns of Empire\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A fascinating world run mostly by corporations, where much of the power comes from dragon blood, provides a compelling backdrop for this sprawling epic fantasy...Breakneck pacing and sheer wonder keep the story compelling.”—\u003ci\u003eLocus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Ryan handily juggles draconic fantasy, espionage and steampunk naval fiction with realism and effortless skill.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Ryan, author of the bestselling Raven’s Shadow trilogy, is back with the first novel in a new trilogy that delivers on action, adventure, espionage—and dragons…This book will leave readers eagerly awaiting the sequel.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cb\u003eAnthony Ryan\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of the Raven’s Shadow novels, including \u003ci\u003eBlood Song\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eTower Lord\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eQueen of Fire\u003c\/i\u003e, and the Draconis Memoria series, including \u003ci\u003eThe Waking Fire\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives in London, where he is at work on his next book.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sirus\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He awoke to Katrya weeping again. Soft whimpers in the darkness.      She had learned by now not to sob, for which Sirus was grateful.      Majack had threatened to strangle her that first night as they all      huddled together in the stinking torrent, Katrya pressed against      Sirus, holding tight as she wept seemingly endless tears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Shut her up!\" Majack had growled, levering himself away from the      green-slimed sewer wall. His uniform was in tatters and he had      lost his rifle somewhere in the chaos above. But he was a large      man and his soldier's hands seemed very strong as he lurched      towards them, reaching for Katrya's sodden blouse, hissing,      \"Quiet, you silly bitch!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He'd stopped as Sirus's knife pressed into the meaty flesh below      his chin. \"Leave her be,\" he whispered, wondering at the      steadiness of his own voice. The knife, a wide-bladed butcher's      implement from the kitchen of his father's house, was dark red      from tip to handle, a souvenir from the start of their journey to      this filthy refuge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Majack bared his teeth in a defiant snarl, eyes meeting those of      the youth with the gory knife and seeing enough dire promise to      let his hands fall. \"She'll bring them down here,\" he grated.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Then you had better hope you can run faster than us,\" Sirus told      him, removing the knife and tugging Katrya deeper into the tunnel.      He held her close, whispering comforting lies into her ear until      the sobs faded into a piteous mewling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There had been ten of them that first night, ten desperate souls      huddling in the subterranean filth as Morsvale died above. Despite      Majack's fears their enemies had not been drawn to the sound of      Katrya's sobs. Not then and not the night after. Judging by the      continuing cacophony audible through the grates, Sirus suspected      that the invaders had found sufficient sport to amuse themselves,      at least for the time being. But, of course, that didn't last.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ten became nine on the fifth day when hunger drove them out in      search of supplies. They waited until nightfall before scurrying      forth from a drain on Ticker Street where most of the city's      grocers plied their trade. At first all seemed quiet, no piercing      cries of alarm from a disturbed drake, no patrols of Spoiled to      chase them back into the filth. Majack broke down a shop-door and      they filled several sacks with onions and potatoes. Sirus had      wanted to head back but the others, increasingly convinced by the      continual quiet that the monsters had gone, decided to take a      chance on a near by butcher's shop. They were making their way      back along a narrow alley towards Hailwell Market, laden with      haunches of beef and pork, when it happened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A sudden rattling growl, the brief blur of a flashing tail and one      of their number was gone. She had been a middle-aged woman from      some minor administrative post in the Imperial Ring, her last      words a garbled plea for help before the drake dragged her over      the edge of the roof-top above. They hadn't waited to hear the      screams, fleeing back to their grimy refuge and dropping half      their spoils in haste. Once back underground they fled deeper into      the sewers. Simleon, a stick-thin youth of criminal leanings, had      some familiarity with the maze of pipes and tunnels, leading them      to the central hub where the various water-ways converged to cast      effluent into a great shaft where it would be carried out to sea.      At first the roaring torrent had been filthy, but as the days      passed the water grew ever more clean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Think there's anyone left?\" Majack muttered one day. Sirus      reckoned it to be a month or more after their abortive foray, it      was hard to keep track of the days here. Majack's dull-eyed gaze      was lost in the passing waters. The soldier's previous hostility      had subsided into a listless depression Sirus knew to be born of      hunger and despair. Despite the strictness with which they      rationed themselves, they had perhaps two more days before the      food ran out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I don't know,\" Sirus muttered, although he had a strong suspicion      these nine starving souls were in fact all that remained of      Morsvale's population.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Wasn't our fault, y'know.\" The listlessness in Majack's gaze      disappeared as it swung towards Sirus, his voice coloured by a      plea for understanding. \"There were so many. Thousands of the      bastards, drakes and Spoiled. Morradin took all but a handful of      the garrison to fight the corporates. We had no chance . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know,\" Sirus said, adding a note of finality to his voice. He      had heard this diatribe before and knew, if left unchecked,      Majack's self-pitying rant might drag on for hours.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"A hundred rounds each, that's all we had. Only one battery of      cannon to defend a whole city . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sirus groaned and moved away, stepping carefully over the damp      brickwork to where Katrya huddled on a ledge beside one of the      larger pipes. She held her hand out to the water gushing from the      pipe, slender fingers splayed in the cascade. \"Do you think it's      clean enough to drink now?\" she asked. They had perhaps a bottle      and a half of wine left, their only remaining source of      uncontaminated hydration.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No.\" He sat down, letting his legs dangle over the ledge and      watching the water disappear into the vast blackness of the shaft.      He had considered jumping several times now, but not out of any      suicidal impulse. According to Simleon the shaft conveyed the      water to a vast underground tunnel leading to the sea. If they      survived the drop it might prove a means of escape. If they      survived the drop . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You're thinking about \u003ci\u003eher\u003c\/i\u003e again, aren't you?\" Katrya asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sirus fixed her with a sharp glare, a harsh reminder of her status      coming to his lips. \u003ci\u003ePlease be good enough to remember, miss, you      are but a servant in my father's house.\u003c\/i\u003e The words died, however,      when he met her eyes, seeing the mixture of defiance and reproach.      Like most of the servants in his father's employ Katrya had taken ma dim view of his embarrassing but irresistible obsession.      However, he thought it strange that she should care about such      things now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Actually no,\" he said instead and nodded at the shaft. \"Simleon      says it's about eighty feet to the bottom.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You'll die,\" she stated flatly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Perhaps. But I increasingly fail to see any alternative.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She hesitated then shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his      shoulder, an overly familiar action that would have been      unthinkable only a few weeks before. \"It's awful quiet up there      now,\" she said. \"Could be they've all gone. Moved on to      Carvenport. Some of the others think so.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eMoved on. Why not? Why stay once they've slaughtered everyone      else? \u003c\/i\u003eThe notion was almost unbearably enticing but also      dangerous. \u003ci\u003eAlternatives?\u003c\/i\u003e he asked himself, the absolute gloom of      the shaft filling his gaze once more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Your father would have at least gone to look,\" Katrya said. The      words were spoken softly, free of malice or judgement, but they      were still enough for him to push her away and get to his feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"My father's dead,\" he told her, the memory of his last      interrogation looming large as he stalked away. The Cadre agent      sitting at the foot of his bed, shrewd eyes on his, somehow even      more frightening than the men who had tortured him in that      basement. \u003ci\u003e\"Where is she? Where would she go?\"\u003c\/i\u003e And he had no      answers, save one: \u003ci\u003e\"Far away from me.\"\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In truth he remembered little of Tekela's escape. The hours that      preceded it had been full of such agony and fear his memory of it      remained forever ruined. His arrest had swiftly followed Father's      demise, a half-dozen Cadre agents breaking down the door to drag      him from his bed, fists and cudgels the only answer to his      babbling enquiries and protestations. He woke to find himself      strapped to a chair with Major Arberus staring into his face,      expression hard with warning. Arberus, Sirus soon realised, was      also strapped to a chair and, positioned off to Sirus's right, so      was Tekela. He remembered the expression on her doll's face, an      expression so unlike anything he had ever expected to see there:      deep, unalloyed guilt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm sorry,\" she'd mouthed, tears falling from her eyes. It      changed then, the obsession he had chosen to call passion, the      delusion that had compelled him to pen verse he knew in his heart      to be terrible and make an unabashed fool of himself at every      opportunity. Here she was, his one true love, just a      guilt-stricken girl strapped to a chair and about to watch him      die.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Their attendants were two men in leather aprons, both of middling      years and undistinguished appearance, who went about their work      with all the efficiency of long-serving craftsmen. They started on      the major first, Sirus closing his eyes tight against the awful      spectacle and Tekela's accompanying screams. They turned their      attentions to Sirus when Arberus fainted and he learned for the      first time what true pain was. There were questions he couldn't      answer, demands he couldn't meet. He knew it all to be      meaningless, just another form of pressure, added theatre for      Tekela's benefit. How long it took to end he never knew, but it      seemed an eternity before his heart began to slow, transformed      into a softly patted drum in his chest and he became aware of his      imminent departure from this world. The basement disappeared into      a fugue of distant sound and vague sensation. He heard shouts and      thuds at some point, the sounds of struggle and combat, but      assumed it to be just a figment of his fading mind. Despite the      confusion he still retained the memory of the precise moment his      heart stopped. He had read of those who returned from the brink of      death to tell of a bright beckoning light, but he never saw it.      There was only blackness and the dreadful pregnant silence left by      his absent heart-beat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Cadre brought him back, though it had been a close-run thing      as his doctor had been happy to tell him. He was a cheerful fellow      with a lilting accent Sirus recognised as coming from the northern      provinces. However, there was a hardness to his gaze despite the      cheeriness, and Sirus sensed he knew as much about taking life as      saving it. For days they tended him, generous doses of Green and      careful application of various drugs until he was as healed as he      could ever expect to be and the numerous scars on his chest      reduced to a faint web of interconnected lines. Sirus understood      this to be only a respite. The Cadre were far from finished with      him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man who came to question him was of diminutive height and trim      build. He wore the typical, nondescript dark suit favoured by      Cadre agents, though the small silver pin in his lapel set him      apart. It was a plain circle adorned with a single oak leaf that      matched those of the Imperial crest. Sirus had never met anyone      wearing this particular emblem before but all Imperial subjects      knew its meaning well enough. \u003ci\u003eAgent of the Blood Cadre.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"She left you behind,\" were the agent's first words to him,      delivered with a tight smile of commiseration. \"Nothing like      misplaced love to harden a man's heart.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The agent went on to ask many questions, but for reasons Sirus      hadn't yet fathomed the Cadre's more direct methods were not      visited upon him again. It could have been due to his fulsome and      unhesitant co-operation, for his experience in the basement had      left no lingering pretensions to useless bravery. \"My father and      Burgrave Artonin worked together on their own projects,\" he told      the agent. \"I was not privy to their studies.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"The device,\" the agent insisted, leaning forward in his chair.      \"Surely you must know of the device? Please understand that your      continued good health depends a great deal upon it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nothing, Sirus thought, recalling the way his father would      jealously guard those artifacts of interest to his precious circle      of select scholars. I know nothing. For a time Sirus had      entertained the notion that such circumspection had been for his      protection, the less knowledge he possessed the less the Cadre's      interest in him. But he knew such concern was largely beyond his      father's heart. It had been simple professional secrecy. His      father had happened upon something of great importance, something      that might transform their understanding of this entire continent      and its history. Like many a scholar, Diran Akiv Kapazin did not      relish the notion of sharing credit. Sirus had only ever caught      glimpses of the thing, and indulged in a few snatched glances at      his father's notes. It remained a baffling, if enticing enigma.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I was privy to . . . certain details,\" he lied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Enough to reconstruct it, perhaps?\" the agent enquired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"If I . . .\" He had choked then, the lies scraping over his      parched tongue. The agent came to his bedside and poured a glass      of water before holding it to Sirus's lips. \"If I had sufficient      time,\" he managed after gulping down the entire contents of the      glass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The agent stood back, lips pursed in consideration. \"Time, I'm      afraid, is both your enemy and mine at this juncture, young sir.      You see, I was sent here by a very demanding master to secure the      device. I'm sure a fellow of your intelligence can deduce to whom      I refer.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Unwilling to say it aloud, Sirus nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Very well.\" The agent returned the glass to the bedside table.      \"I'm going to send you home, Sirus Akiv Kapazin. You will find      your household largely unchanged, although sadly my colleagues      felt obliged to arrest your father's butler and he failed to      survive questioning. All the papers we could find in his offices      at the museum are awaiting your scholarly attentions.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So he had gone home, finding it bare of servants save Lumilla, his      father's long-standing housekeeper, and her daughter Katrya. It      seemed the Cadre's visit had been enough to convince the others to      seek employment elsewhere. He spent weeks poring over his father's      papers, compiling copious notes and drawing diagram after diagram,      making only the most incremental progress. The agent came to the      house several times, appearing less impressed with every visit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Three cogs?\" he enquired, one eyebrow raised as he looked over      Sirus's latest offering, a simple but precisely rendered diagram.      \"After two weeks of effort, you show me three cogs.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"They are the central components of the device,\" Sirus told him,      his voice imbued with as much certainty as he could muster.      \"Establishing their exact dimensions is key to reconstructing the      entire mechanism.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"And these dimensions are correct?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I believe so.\" Sirus rummaged through the pile of papers on his      father's desk, unearthing a rather tattered note-book. \"My father      wrote in a shorthand of his own devising, so it took some time to      translate his analysis. I am convinced the dimensions of these      cogs is directly related to the orbits of the three moons.\"","brand":"Ace","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305538539749,"sku":"NP9781101987919","price":27.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101987919.jpg?v=1767740200","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-legion-of-flame-isbn-9781101987919","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}