Shorefall

*As a magical revolution remakes a city, an ancient evil is awakened in a brilliant novel from the Hugo-nominated author of Foundryside* and the Divine Cities trilogy.

An absolutely wild ride . . . Foundryside blew me away, and this is a perfect sequel. Amal El-Mohtar, The New York Times Book Review**

A few years ago, Sancia Grado would ve happily watched Tevanne burn. Now, she s hoping to transform her city into something new. Something better. Together with allies Orso, Gregor, and Berenice, she s about to strike a deadly blow against Tevanne s cruel robber-baron rulers and wrest power from their hands for the first time in decades.

But then comes a terrifying warning: Crasedes Magnus himself, the first of the legendary hierophants, is about to be reborn. And if he returns, Tevanne will be just the first place to feel his wrath.

Thousands of years ago, Crasedes was an ordinary man who did the impossible: Using the magic of scriving the art of imbuing objects with sentience he convinced reality that he was something more than human. Wielding powers beyond comprehension, he strode the world like a god for centuries, meting out justice and razing empires single-handedly, cleansing the world through fire and destruction and even defeating death itself.

Like it or not, it s up to Sancia to stop him. But to have a chance in the battle to come, she ll have to call upon a god of her own and unlock the door to a scriving technology that could change what it means to be human. And no matter who wins, nothing will ever be the same.

The awe-inspiring second installment of the Founders Trilogy, Shorefall returns us to the world Robert Jackson Bennett created in his acclaimed Foundryside . . . and forges it anew.

“The book I’ve most thoroughly and uncomplicatedly enjoyed this year so far. It shocked and delighted and upset me from page to page, managing to thread humor and pathos and intrigue together with the speed and precision of a loom. Its comments on our present moment are so deft and sly that when they turn earnest it’s deeply affecting . . . [and] sometimes brought me to tears. . . . I’m so excited to see what happens next.”—Amal El-Mohtar, The New York Times

“Shorefall is a slice of genius slathered with unfiltered madness; it is an innovation on invention. I want to scrive in this world, to create and experiment with Berenice and Orso, to scale towers and improvise with Sancia, to fight battles and defend my friends with Gregor. I loved this book.”—Fantasy Book Review

“The large-scale conflicts, new characters, and climactic ending set the stage for more exciting action and adventure to come in the complex, ever-expanding world of the series.”**—Booklist (starred review)
 
**“Bennett’s characterization . . . strikes a perfect balance between terror and allure. This thrilling installment will leave readers eager for the series finale.”**—Publishers Weekly**
 
“An expertly spun yarn by one of the best fantasy writers on the scene today.”**—Kirkus Reviews****
**

Autorentext
Robert Jackson Bennett is the author of Foundryside and the Divine Cities trilogy, which was a Hugo Awards finalist in the Best Series category. The first book in the series, City of Stairs, was also a finalist for the World Fantasy and Locus Awards, and the second, City of Blades, was a finalist for the World Fantasy, Locus, and British Fantasy Awards. His previous novels have received the Edgar Award, the Shirley Jackson Award, and the Philip K. Dick Citation of Excellence. He lives in Austin with his family.

Klappentext

"Having narrowly saved the metropolis of Tevanne from destruction, Sancia Grado and her allies have turned to their next task: sowing the seeds of a full-on magical-industrial revolution. If they succeed, the secrets behind scriving--the art of imbuing everyday objects with sentience--will be accessible to all of Tevanne's citizens, much to the displeasure of the robber-barons who've hoarded this knowledge for themselves. But one of Sancia's enemies has embarked on a desperate gambit, an attempt to resurrect a figure straight out of legend--an immortal being known as a heirophant. Long ago, the heirophant was an ordinary man, but he's used scriving to transform himself into something closer to a god. Once awakened, he'll stop at nothing to remake the world in his horrifying image. And if Sancia can't stop this ancient power from returning? Well, the only way to fight a god ... is with another god"--

Leseprobe
1

"The gates are just ahead,” said Gregor. “Get ready.”

Sancia took a breath and steeled herself as their carriage lumbered through the pouring rain. She could see the lights atop the campo walls from here, bright and sharp and cold, but little more than that. She rubbed her hands together, her fingertips trailing over the calluses on her palms and knuckles, now a shadow of what they’d been during the prime of her thieving days.

Berenice reached over, grabbed her hands, and gave them both a squeeze. “Just remember the plan,” she said. “Remember that, and nothing will go wrong.”

“I remember the plan,” said Sancia. “I just also remember there’s a lot of spots in the plan that say, ‘Sancia improvises a bunch of shit.’ Which is not, you know, comforting.”

“We aren’t getting nervous back there, are we?” said Orso from the pilot’s cockpit. He turned around to look at them, his faded blue eyes wide and wild in his dark, craggy face.

“A little anxiety,” said Berenice, “is understandable under these circumstances.”

“But being as we’ve worked our asses off for the better part of six months to get here,” said Orso, “I’m a lot less willing to understand it.”

“Orso . . .” said Gregor.

“We are just scrivers going to make a deal with a merchant house,” said Orso, turning back around. “Just four grubby scrivers looking to sell our designs and make some quick cash. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“I see the walls,” said Gregor. He adjusted the wheel of the carriage and slowed its progress to a crawl.

Orso peered forward. “Uh. Well. I will admit that is a little worrying.”

The walls of the Michiel Body Corporate campo emerged from the driving rain. It looked like the Michiels had made some substantial additions since Sancia had last seen them. For starters, the walls were now about forty feet taller, spackled with new gray masonry—­that must have taken some work. But it was what sat on top of the new masonry that caught her attention: a series of large, long bronze boxes, installed on the walls about every hundred feet, each one sitting on some kind of swivel stand.

“That is a shitload of espringal batteries,” muttered Orso.

Sancia studied the espringal batteries, still and dark in the rain. She watched as a bird flew close to one, and it snapped up, the end of the long box tracking the bird’s flight like a cat might watch a passing bat. The box apparently decided the bird was no cause for concern, and returned to its original position.

She knew how such rigs worked: the batteries were filled with scrived bolts—­arrows that had been convinced to fly preternaturally fast and hard—­but the critical bit was that the batteries had been scrived to sense blood. If a battery sensed a bit of blood that it didn’t recognize, it would point its bolts at whoever happened to contain that blood, loose them all, and s…