The Heart of What Was Lost

Praise for Tad Williams:“Inspired me to write my own seven-book trilogy.... It’s one of my favorite fantasy series .” —George R. R. Martin, New York Times -bestselling author of A Game of Thrones “Groundbreaking.... Changed how people thought of the genre, and paved the way for so much modern fantasy . Including mine.” —Patrick Rothfuss, New York Times -bestselling author of The Name of the Wind "Tad Williams is a master storyteller, and the Osten Ard books are his masterpiece. Williams’ return to Osten Ard is every bit as compelling, deep, and fully-rendered as the first trilogy , and he continues to write with the experience and polish of an author at the top of his game."xa0—Brandon Sanderson, New York Times -bestselling author of Mistborn “ Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn is one of the great fantasy epics of all time .” —Christopher Paolini, New York Times- bestselling author of Eragon “ Readers who delight in losing themselves in long complex tales of epic fantasy will be in their element here, and there is the promise of much more to come in future volumes.” — Locus “Panoramic, vigorous, often moving.... Williams adroitly weaves together the tales...heralding a suitably epic and glorious conclusion.” — Publishers Weekly “Highly recommended. [Williams] draws on many mythologies for the background of his fantasy epic...story spiced with political intrigue and strong appealing heroes .” — Library Journal "That Williams has turned this functional little tome into a gem unto itself not only speaks to hisxa0enduring talent as a spinner of fantasy, but to the durability of Osten Ard itself — an awesome, immersive realm well worth revisiting all these years later."xa0—NPR" The Heart Of What Was Lost feels like a long-lost epilogue to the trilogy—Williams writes as though he never left Osten Ard at all ."xa0—B&N Sci-Fi Fantasy Blog xa0 “ A grand fantasy on a scale approaching Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings .” — Cincinnati Post Tad Williams is a California-based fantasy superstar.xa0 His genre-creating (and genre-busting) books have sold tens of millions worldwide. His works include the worlds of Otherland, Shadowmarch, and Osten Ardxad—including the Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn, and The Last King of Osten Ard series—as well as standalone novels Tailchaser’s Song and The War of the Flowers . His considerable output of epic fantasy, science fiction, urban fantasy, comics, and more have strongly influenced a generation of writers.xa0 Tad and his family live in the Santa Cruz mountains in a suitably strange and beautiful house.xa0He can be found at tadwilliams.com or on Twitter at @tadwilliams. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Part One xa0 The Ruined Fortress At first, in the flurrying snow, he thought the soldier stumbling in front of him, through the icy mud of the Frostmarch Road, had been wounded, that the man’s neck and shoulders were spattered with blood. As he steered his horse around the hobbling figure he saw that the blobs of red had a regular shape and pattern, like waves. He reined up until the soldier was limping beside him. xa0 “Where did you get that?” Porto asked. “That scarf?” xa0 The soldier, thin and several years younger than Porto, only stared up at him and shook his head. xa0 “I asked you a question. Where did you get it?” xa0 “My mother wove it for me. Piss off.” xa0 Porto settled back in his saddle, amused. “Are you really a Harborsider, or is your mother a bit blind?” xa0 The younger soldier looked up at him with a blend of confusion and irritation: he thought he was being insulted but wasn’t sure. “What do you know about it?” xa0 “More than you do, as it turns out, because I’m from the Rocks and we’ve been drubbing you lot at town-ball for centuries.” xa0 “You’re a Shoro—a Geyser?” xa0 “And you’re a Dogfish, dim as can be. What’s your name?” xa0 The young foot soldier looked him over carefully. The two waterfront neighborhoods— setros , as they were called in Ansis Pelippé, the largest city on Perdruin—were ancient rivals, and even here, hundreds of leagues north of that island’s shores, it was obvious that his first impulse was to brace for a beating. “Tell me yours.” xa0 The man on the horse laughed. “Porto of Shoro Bay. Owner of one horse and most of a suit of armor. And you?” xa0 “Endri. Baker’s son.” xa0 At last, and as if he had been holding it back, the youth smiled. He still had most of his teeth and it made him seem even younger, like one of the boys who had run beside Porto’s horse waving and shouting as he made his way through Nabban, all those months ago. xa0 “By the love of Usires, you’re a tall one, aren’t you!” Endri looked him up and down. “What are you doing so far away from home, my lord?” xa0 “No lord, me, just a man lucky enough to have a horse. And you’re freezing to death because you can’t walk fast enough. What happened to your foot?” xa0 The younger soldier shrugged. “Horse stepped on it. Not your horse. I don’t think it was, anyway.” xa0 “It wasn’t. I’d have remembered you, with your Harborside scarf.” xa0 “I wish I had another. I’d even wear one in damned Shoro blue. It’s so bloody cold here I’m dying. Are we in Rimmersgard yet?” xa0 “Crossed the border two days back. But they all live like mountain trolls up here. Houses built of snow and nothing to eat but pine needles. Climb up.” xa0 “What?” xa0 “Climb up. First time I ever helped a Dogfish, but you won’t even make it to the border fort like that. Here, take my hand and I’ll pull you up to the saddle.” xa0 When Endri had settled behind him, Porto gave him a sip from his drinking horn. “It was terrible, by the way.” xa0 “What was terrible?” xa0 “The beating we gave you lot this year on St. Tunato’s Day. Your Dogfish were weeping in the streets like women.” xa0 “Liar. Nobody wept.” xa0 “Only because they were too busy begging for mercy.” xa0 “You know what my father always says? ‘Go to the palace for justice, go to the church for mercy, but go to the Rocks for liars and thieves.’ ” xa0 Porto laughed. “For a sniveling Harborsider, your father is a wise man.” *** “This is a true story, if words can be true. If not, then these are only words. “Once upon the past, during the preserve of the queen’s sixteenth High Celebrant, in the era of the Wars of Return, our people, the Cloud Children, were defeated by a coalition of mortals and the Zida’ya, our own treacherous kin, at the Battle for Asu’a. The Storm King Ineluki returned to death, his plans in ruins. Our great Queen Utuk’ku survived, but fell into the keta-yi’indra, a healing sleep nearly as profound as death. It seemed to some of our people that the end of all stories had arrived, that the Great Song itself was coming to an end so that the universe could take its next age-long breath. “Many, many of our folk who had fought for their queen in a losing cause now departed from the southern lands with thought only of returning to their home in the north ahead of the vengeance of the mortals, who would not be content with their victory, but would strive to overthrow our mountain home and extinguish the last of the Cloud Children. “This was the moment when the People were nearly destroyed. But it was also a moment of extraordinary grace, of courage beyond the proudest demands we make upon ourselves. And as things have always been in the song of the People, in this, too, even the moments of greatest beauty were perfumed with destruction and loss. Thus it was for many warriors of the Order of Sacrifice when the Storm King fell, as well as those of other orders who had accompanied them to the enemy’s lands. The war was ended. Home was far. And the mortals were close behind, vermin from the filthiest streets of their cities, mercenaries and madmen who killed, not as we do, regretfully, but for the sheer, savage joy of killing.” —Lady Miga seyt-Jinnata of the Order of Chroniclers Read more