{"product_id":"seventh-decimate-isbn-9780399586156","title":"Seventh Decimate","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe acclaimed author of the Thomas Covenant Chronicles launches a powerful new trilogy about a prince’s desperate quest for a sorcerous library to save his people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eFire. Wind. Pestilence. Earthquake. Drought. Lightning. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThese are the six Decimates, wielded by sorcerers for both good and evil. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBut a seventh Decimate exists—the most devastating one of all...\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor centuries, the realms of Belleger and Amika have been at war, with sorcerers from both sides harnessing the Decimates to rain blood and pain upon their enemy. But somehow, in some way, the Amikans have discovered and invoked a seventh Decimate, one that strips all lesser sorcery of its power. And now the Bellegerins stand defenseless.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Prince Bifalt, eldest son of the Bellegerin King, would like to see the world wiped free of sorcerers. But it is he who is charged with finding the repository of all of their knowledge, to locate the book of the seventh Decimate—and reverse the fate of his land.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e All hope rests with Prince Bifalt. But the legendary library, which may or may not exist, lies beyond an unforgiving desert and treacherous mountains—and beyond the borders of his own experience. Wracked by hunger and fatigue, sacrificing loyal men along the way, Prince Bifalt will discover that there is a game being played by those far more powerful than he could ever imagine. And that he is nothing but a pawn...\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eSeventh Decimate\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It promises to be as rich in detail as its predecessors—and, Mr. Donaldson’s trademark, as emotionally deep and as psychologically unpredictable.”--\u003ci\u003eThe Wall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A new Stephen Donaldson book is always a cause for celebration. \u003ci\u003eSeventh Decimate\u003c\/i\u003e will whet your appetite for a sequel.”—Terry Brooks, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fantastic.\"--\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for the Thomas Covenant Chronicles\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] landmark fantasy saga.”—\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A trilogy of remarkable scope and sophistication.”—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The most original fantasy since The Lord of the Rings.”—\u003ci\u003eTime Out\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Will certainly find a place on the small list of true classics.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post Book World\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Covenant is Donaldson’s genius.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Village Voice\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A highly imaginative epic to be savored through successive readings.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The War and Peace of fantasy literature.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Kansas City Star\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eStephen R. Donaldson\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of the original six volumes of the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, a landmark in modern fantasy. Every volume, beginning with \u003ci\u003eLord Foul’s Bane\u003c\/i\u003e in 1977, has been an international bestseller. Donaldson returned to the series with the Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, comprising \u003ci\u003eThe Runes of the Earth\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eFatal Revenant\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eAgainst All Things Ending\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Last Dark\u003c\/i\u003e. Donaldson lives in New Mexico.Nearly two years after      the day he had felt himself killed by lightning, and      then-impossibly-had lived, the day when Bellegerin rifles had      changed the world, Prince Bifalt and his company departed      Belleger's Fist without announcement or display. Why risk raising      hopes, he had asked his father, when success is hardly imaginable?      And King Abbator had agreed. For that reason, there were no      trumpets or banners. The company did not pass outward along an      aisle of courtiers. The high balconies of the Fist were empty,      apart from the King himself, his most trusted counselors, and his      lead commanders. None of them waved or shouted encouragement. Some      of them were probably swearing to themselves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But someone had started a rumor. Stolle, an incurable gossip, may      have said something to his new wife, who shared his taste for      whispered secrets. He had surely felt compelled to give her some      explanation to account for an absence that might not end. Or      Captain Swalish's family might have overheard a low remark      intended for someone else. In any case, the Open Hand was tinder      for rumors. They spread like wildfires.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Prince Bifalt left the Fist mounted on his favorite destrier,      with his ten guardsmen, two supply-wains, and one former Magister,      his road through the Hand was lined with crowds. Belleger's      people-most of them failing merchants and tradesmen, destitute      serving-folk and farmers, starving beggars and maimed      veterans-knew nothing about the Prince's quest. They only knew he      would not leave his place at his father's side, or in the army,      for any trivial purpose. So they gathered to watch him go. If they      guessed he went in search of some nameless power that might save      them from Amika, they did not show it. They only watched in      silence while he rode between them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For his part, Prince Bifalt presented a countenance of resolute      confidence. He could not offer hope, but he had no intention of      encouraging despair. Shining in his bronze helm and breastplate,      both marked with the beleaguered eagle of his homeland, he was the      perfect emblem of a soldier who would redeem his people or die.      His only concession to a long journey was the silk rather than      boiled leather he wore under his armor to avoid chafing. And he      had at his back as much support as King Abbator could spare. His      ten guardsmen were all veterans, all armed with rifles as well as      their more traditional weapons. The wains with their paired oxen      carried stores and necessities enough for a season in unfamiliar      lands. The oxen were managed by four teamsters chosen for strength      and stamina as well as for devotion to their beasts. And the      Magister with the company was an older man who had once been      mighty, but who still knew a trick or three that might defend the      quest from Amikan theurgy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In addition, the Prince himself was far from helpless. His      training, experience, and weapons were augmented by a chiseled      visage, a piercing gaze, an unyielding nature, and the knowledge      that his quest was desperate. Also, he loved his people as he      loved his father. His homeland was dear to him. There was no man      in Belleger better suited to his task than he.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nevertheless, his air of confidence was a sham. Behind his faade,      uncertainties gnawed at him. He had no map to his destination.      Indeed, he had no assurance his destination existed. If he found      it, it might not have what he needed. And if what he needed were      there, he might not be allowed to use it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Furthermore, he knew his limitations. Although he was as resolute      as he appeared, he was not clever. He was not a man who outwitted      his foes. His skills were hard-learned, the result of long      repetition: they were not the product of quick thinking or      inspiration.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But he had deeper problems as well. The catastrophe that had      befallen Belleger had shaken him to the marrow of his bones. It      had shattered every conceivable future for his people. And now he      was responsible for answering it. That burden filled him with      dread. More than ever before in his life, he feared to fail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The signs of that catastrophe were everywhere around him as he      rode. He saw them in the lines of privation that marred every      face; in the disrepair of the homes, the merchantries, the      streets, the very walls; in the thinness of even the most      prosperous shopkeepers. Elsewhere, he knew, grapes rotted on the      vines because the vineyards could not be adequately tended, while      fields of wheat and barley were useless because there were too few      able women and uncrippled men to plant and harvest them. Cattle      were becoming as scarce as fresh horses. The panic of the first      days, the confusion, clamor, and outrage, were gone, burned out by      exhaustion and deprivation during the seasons that followed. What      remained was hopelessness. Prince Bifalt saw it in scores of      faces. His people were afraid to dream of survival.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If he failed them, they would all die.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The catastrophe had swept over Belleger almost a year after      Captain Swalish and his squad had first used rifles in battle, and      the Prince had killed two Amikan Magisters. Between one day's      sunset and the next's dawn, all sorcery had vanished from the      realm. All sorcery. While they slept, or caroused, or worked, or      whatever they did at night, every Magister was rendered impotent.      Fire and wind no longer answered the summons of their former      masters. Quakes, lightning, and pestilence no longer came when      they were called. In one night, all power was extinguished in the      land.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The effects were devastating. Bellegerins did not know how to live      without sorcery. It was essential to their understanding of their      world; their understanding of existence. Even Prince Bifalt, who      despised theurgy, was appalled. For him, however, as for King      Abbator, and for everyone who had experienced Amika's enmity, the      loss of sorcery was only the start of the catastrophe. There was      worse to come.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was this: Amika's eventual victory was now assured. That foe      could direct its own savagery and power against Belleger whenever      it chose, whenever it felt ready, now that its victim was      helpless. Every Bellegerin knew that the headsman's axe could fall      at any moment. While men and women still lived, they felt that      waiting for death was more cruel than death itself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Of course, King Abbator's counselors and lead commanders reasoned,      Amika still had sorcery. Its Magisters could still wield ruin.      There was no other explanation. Belleger's old enemy was its only      enemy; the only other people in their world. How could the realm      have been bereft of its only defense, except by theurgy? And who      apart from Amika could have caused-or desired-the catastrophe?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The wonder, then, was not that Amika had committed such an      atrocity. Its people were capable of anything. The wonder was that      Belleger's enemy had not yet acted on its advantage. Prince      Bifalt's homeland was ripe for the taking. Why had it not been      simply overrun?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This was the subject of endless debate-and intolerable delay-in      the King's council chamber: why?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Some advisers believed that Amika was biding its time until it had      readied strength enough to overwhelm Belleger in a single assault.      Most of the army's lead commanders-and the Prince      himself-disagreed. They argued that the Amikans held back because      they feared Belleger's ability to make guns. After all, only some      men were capable of sorcery. Fewer still had the knowledge and      training to develop their gifts. Also, their powers were singular.      A Magister who could fling fire could not also raise winds or      crack the earth. In contrast, any man able to stand up and point      could kill his foes at improbable distances. A host of men with      rifles could wreak appalling havoc. An unprecedented massing of      sorcerers would be required to overcome them. Naturally, Amika      feared a premature attack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In truth, of course, Belleger had no host. When the catastrophe      struck, the whole realm possessed no more than a few hundred      rifles. And the alchemists, iron-wrights, and jewel-smiths could      not produce more without sorcery; without the Decimate of fire.      Their forges were not hot enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Considering this cruel contradiction often made Prince Bifalt so      angry he wanted to froth at the mouth. At times, he bit the inside      of his cheek until it bled. He did not know another way to grieve,      except with rage. But in his present straits, he could not afford      to dwell on his frustration. Eventually, some Amikan spy would      discover Belleger's hidden weakness. Then the last battle would      begin. Against any onslaught, a few hundred rifles might suffice      to defend the King's city, but not his lands. To preserve the      entire realm, Belleger required theurgy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hence the Prince's quest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yet even his own doubts and the threat to his people were not the      sum of his burdens. He had a more personal fear, a private reason      to distrust success as much as he feared failure. In the instant      of his death-the instant when he should have died-a voice had      spoken to him. Are you ready? It could only have been a sorcerer's      voice. And it gave him cause to think that he had been singled out      by an inconceivable power for an incomprehensible purpose: a      purpose which might be fatal to Belleger. He had felt his own      death. He had seen it take him. He did not know why he was still      alive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On that topic, however, he kept silent. Whom could he tell? Anyone      who had not heard that voice would dismiss it as the confusion of      a mind unhinged by the Decimate of lightning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After the catastrophe, the debates in the King's chambers had      seemed endless despite their urgency. They had chewed on Prince      Bifalt until he felt eaten alive. He needed to fight-and yet the      council had entirely failed to determine a course of action. What      could Belleger do? It could not overcome its foe. It could not      shield itself. And it had no allies. It knew of no lands or      peoples with whom it could have allied itself. If there were ships      on the sea to the west, they did not come to Belleger's impossible      coast. If there were passes through the southern mountains, the      Realm's Edge, passes leading to inhabited regions, they had not      been explored. The war with Amika had left neither time nor      resources for exploration. A ruinous desert filled the east, and      Amika held the north. There was nowhere Belleger could turn for      help.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Early in the debates, a minor counselor had suggested timidly that      perhaps Amika had also been bereft of sorcery. But this notion had      been dismissed with derision. Who else could have caused      Belleger's catastrophe? Who else hated Belleger so much? There was      no one else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Of course, spies had been sent into Amika. In fact, they had been      sent for generations, one after another in a bewildering variety      of guises. But very few of them had ever returned, except those      who had nothing useful to report. And none returned at all now.      That harsh fact supported the conviction that Amika's Magisters      still had power. How else had Amika detected and stopped or killed      all of Belleger's spies?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e King Abbator and his advisers believed that their realm was too      weak to prevent certain doom. They had good reason.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But then an old man came forward. He had once been a powerful      Magister, and a strong voice among the King's advisers. Since the      loss of sorcery, however, he had fallen into senility, and had      preferred the isolation of his scattered wits to the company of      his fellow Magisters and advisers. Yet now he presented himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Forced by decrepitude to support himself on a gnarled staff, and      clad in a tattered grey robe much soiled by various mishaps, he      was the personification of lost efficacy. Most of the council      turned away as he advanced, embarrassed as much by his uselessness      as by his apparel and frailty. Nevertheless, he had served King      Abbator faithfully for some decades. Respect for the old man's      past stature commanded the King's attention, although it did not      command the Prince's.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Magister Altimar, welcome,\" said the King in a tone of patience      already somewhat stretched. \"You wish to speak? You have some      counsel that may free us from our impasse?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Free you, Majesty?\" replied the impotent sorcerer. \"No.\" The      strained wheeze with which he spoke made Prince Bifalt feel that      his own breathing was constricted. \"You decide nothing. You can      decide nothing. You do not know your peril. While you debate and      debate, you are lost.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e King Abbator stroked his beard to soothe his frustration. \"So much      we understand, Magister. What we do not know-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Consider, Majesty,\" interrupted Altimar, wheezing. \"Such power.      The power to deprive an entire realm of sorcery. Who wields such      theurgy? Who knows such things are possible?\" For a moment, he      appeared to drift. Then he coughed to clear his lungs. \"None here      can answer,\" he said with an old man's quavering sullenness. \"None      can name that power. None knows where the answer may be found. You      doubt an answer exists.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Exasperated on his father's behalf, Prince Bifalt saw no reason      for politeness. \"What is your point, old man?\" he demanded. He did      not like any sorcerer. \"We are familiar with our ignorance. We      acknowledged it long ago. Now we have left it behind. We must      choose our course in spite of it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Old man?\" The theurgist's head jerked. Angers long burned to ash      found embers in his eyes. His lips glistened with phlegm. \"You      call me old man? I hear your scorn. Yes, I am old. I was old while      you were a mewling babe. But I was wise long before your birth. I      have wielded powers beyond your foolish imagining. I am Magister      Altimar, boy. I have no use now, but I remember. At last, I have      remembered. I speak because no other will. No other can.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The King gestured his son to silence. \"Then speak, Magister. We      have heard counsel from jesters and mountebanks, having none      worthy of repetition ourselves. We will surely heed you. Speak of      what you can. Relieve our ignorance.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Old man?\" repeated the sorcerer. Petulance had knocked his wits      awry. \"I did not drag myself up from the depths of memory to be      met with disdain. You, boy, deserve your ignorance. You will never      escape it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Again King Abbator commanded Prince Bifalt's silence. Wiser than      his son, Belleger's ruler controlled his own vexation. Carefully      mild, he replied, \"You have not been met with disdain from me,      Magister. You will not. Only speak. Tell me what you have      remembered.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The frail figure shook himself. After more coughing, he cleared      his throat. \"Of course, Majesty. Why else have I come?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Clinging to his staff, he began in a hectoring tone better suited      to a hall of apprentices.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Of Decimates, six are known. Fire, certainly. Wind. The plague of      boils. The cracking of the earth. Also a drought that can suck the      water from a man, or a company of men, leaving only corpses. And a      lightning terrible to contemplate. It shatters stone as easily as      wood, and the stone burns. Ask any who were once Magisters. They      will tell you that the Decimates of sorcery are six.\"","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299892646117,"sku":"NP9780399586156","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399586156.jpg?v=1767736396","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/seventh-decimate-isbn-9780399586156","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}