Rannulfson, Michael A veteran mercenary, the commander of the paid military garrison at Lissen Carak.
Red Squirrel An Outwaller ranger.
Redmede, Harald Commander of the royal foresters, brother of Bill Redmede the Jack.
Redmede, William, Bill Lover of Bess and the leader of the Jacks, a movement of escaped serfs and angry yeomen to overthrow the established order and eliminate ideas of aristocracy and vassalage. The Jacks began the Great War allied with Thorn, but the movement has become tangled in ideals and has split. Redmede leads the faction that believes the evil of Ash is greater than the evil of feudalism. For now.
Rhun A dragon. The apparently taken or “not-dead” dragon in service to, or part of, the rebel Odine group called the Necromancer.
Rinir, Syr A knight of faery. Despite massive differences between irk culture and human culture, the concept of knighthood seems comprehensible by both groups.
Roen, Phillippa de Also known as Pippa, Prickly Pippa, or the queen of the field workers. Daughter of Helewise, a flirtatious young woman with a good head on her shoulders and too much experience of being a refugee and a poor relation.
Rohan, Guillaume, Sieur de Courtier and knight of Galle, a royal favorite, a gossip, and a schemer.
Rose Drew Phillippa de Roen’s best friend.
Sabina di Berona Friend of Lady Sophia di Castelbarco, cook, and gunner, commander of the bronze gonne “Lord of Light.”
Sam An out-of-work farm laborer who has joined Tyler’s faction of the Jacks.
Sarrissa, Andromeche Morean student of the Academy; one of Master Nikos’s more promising talents.
Sartres, Lady Clarissa de The acting Duchess of Arles, Queen of Arles, and quite possibly Queen of Galle. The De Sartres family, which included the Sieur d’Ablemont, the King of Galle’s favorite and adviser, were the hereditary rulers of the Kingdom of Arles before Ablemont and the King of Galle seized it and forced Clarissa’s father to accept demotion to a subordinate duchy. The King of Galle attempted to seize Arles Castle in a later coup and failed, largely because of the Red Knight and his fledgling company’s actions, but that’s another story…
Lady Clarissa was sent to Galle as a sort of hostage for her father’s good behavior, and when her father died fighting the Wild and she narrowly escaped sexual harassment at court, she found herself commanding a desperate defense of her home. The Necromancer laid siege to Arles for months, without success, and Lady Clarissa’s defence of the city probably saved the world. She deserves her own novel.
Sauce Also known as Ser Alison Audley, captain of the grande alliance, Marquesa of Albin. Sauce was born to a poor family and sold as a sex worker when she was eleven. She worked in brothels in Harndon and in Liviapolis until she was fourteen, when she killed a customer and escaped with the aid of the brothel’s bouncer, a former mercenary named Cully, who thought he was in retirement, and a young, broken man who had not yet begun to call himself the Red Knight… but that’s another story. Sauce, along with Tom Lachlan, is a pillar of the company, a brilliant fighter, and a dashing knight.
Scrant An archer of the company.
Short Tooth An archer of the company.
Sidenhir An irk archer of the company.
Simkin An archer of the company.
Simone, Conte of Berona A benevolent tyrant of the De La Scala family, il Conte Simone is one of the most feared knights of the Antica Terra. Friend of Sauce, admirer of Blanche, and captain of the Crusade.
Skas-a-gao A Sossag shaman and member of the Council of Dorling.
Slythenhag An ancient and venerable wyvern brood mother, Slythenhag has served many lords of the Wild and is perfectly willing to serve the Red Knight as long as her brood is protected and enhanced.
Smoke A master archer of the company.
Smythe, Master The dragon Lot.
Snot An archer of the company.
Sophia di Castelbarco Lady of Ser Maurizio, the most beautiful woman in il Conte Simone’s brilliant court. Friend of Sabina di Berona.
Srylot, Syr A faery knight.
Stare, Gwillam A veteran Jack.
Stark, Captain George An officer of the Albin militia.
Stefana, Novice A junior member of the choir of Lissen Carak.
Stern Rachel A veteran Jack.
Stone Axe War chief of the Long Dam Clan bears.
Stouffy, Bill Veteran of the royal foresters.
Sukey Also known as Susan Macgitchie or Dama Souga, Imperial Countess of Osawa. Commands the company’s logistics effort; she is sometimes referred to as “head woman,” but by autumn, her duties encompass the whole imperial war effort. Lover of Tom Lachlan, daughter of Mag the Sorceress, granddaughter of Master Smythe.
Swynford, Hawissa An officer of the royal foresters.
Swynford, Master A master craftsman of Harndon.
Sym Also known as Low Sym. A street brat, would-be rapist, and general ne’er-do-well junior archer of the company, typical of the bad men and women who end up as mercenaries. Died heroically and was eaten by bogglins. “Evil is a choice” is the theme of these books, and Sym was the first target of those words.
Tamsin, Queen Also known as Lady Tamsin, Faery Queen, Lady of Faeries, or the Lady of Illusions. A Great Power of the Wild, Tamsin is among the oldest of the powers and can remember past ages and wars for the gates. Apparently an irk, although some believe that she, like Lot, is actually a dragon. Lover of Tapio, the Faery Knight.
Tancred of Occitan, Prince Also known as Tancred Poictiers. Poet, warrior, minstrel, and prince. Again, a hero in his own right who deserves his own story.
Tancreda, Magistera Another of the incredible crop of talented young magisters produced by the university; in this case, of imperial descent, Tancreda, a serious intellectual, throws aside her plans for a convent to be the lover and partner of Morgon Mortirmir.
Tapio The Faery Knight. One of the oldest and most powerful irks, and generally accorded the rank of “king” of the irks, although most irks are far too independent to have a king. Sometimes an ally of men and sometimes an enemy. A true protector of the Wild.
Tar, Lady Probably a dragon. And then again, perhaps something even more powerful. In the north of Alba and the Hills, often confused or conflated with the Virgin Mary.
Tas-a-gao Old Sossag hunter and veteran ranger.
Teskanotokex A young warden, kin of Mogon and in her warband.
Tessen An irk ranger.
Theodora A brave novice of the Order of Saint Thomas.
Thomas, Saint One of the military legates of the legions of Livia. According to legend, after years of leading the war against the irks, he learned the irk language and went west as an ambassador to make peace with the Wild, learned to practice green magic, and achieved some sort of apotheosis.
Ticondonaga A massive and ancient fortress on the wall, built by Livia and improved by successive generations of legates and lords, currently the hold of the Muriens family, the lords of the western wall and most of the north and the Adnacrags.
Tippit, Tip Master archer of the company.
Tobias, Ser, Toby First a page and then a squire of the Red Knight, Toby started as a street urchin in Harndon and may yet end up as a great captain.
Towbray, Earl of Richard de Burgh. The most powerful nonroyal lord in Alba, De Burgh holds most of the great estates in Jarsay, the southern, richest half of the kingdom, and the Burgh estates in the heartland run almost from the gates of Harndon to the border of Occitan. Through his grandmother, Towbray has a claim on the throne.
Towbray, Kaitlin de Kaitlin de Burgh. Wife of Michael de Burgh, daughter-in-law of the Earl of Towbray, eventually the Duchess of Towbray. Kaitlin herself is a Lantorn of Abbington and Kentmere, a family best known for near-criminal behavior and laziness; curiously, Kaitlin and her brother Ricar seem immune to the family curse. Likable, and also a former laundress, like the empress. It’s been a good year for laundresses.
Towbray, Ser Michael de Ser Michael de Burgh. Son of the
great Earl of Towbray, Michael ran away from his pampered life as a very young man to learn to be a “real” knight alongside veteran mercenaries. He very quickly ended up in the company and became the Red Knight’s squire, and Kaitlin Lantorn’s husband. One of the “initiates” of “the plan” and also one of the best knights, the Red Knight made him his military heir.
Turell, Cat An apprentice of Harndon and gonner in the Harndoner militia.
Tyler, Nat Leader of a faction of the Jacks that favors the violent extermination of the aristocracy and alliance with Ash, or any other power that will help overthrow the hated aristos. He killed the king. One of the best archers in the world.
Urk of Mogon A bogglin of the wild Adnacrag mounds, a master archer of the company. Formerly served Thorn but was scent-marked by Duchess Mogon as a member of her own clan, a high honor, unheard of for a mere bogglin.
Vizirt, Syr An irk knight.
Vrailly, Jean de The self-styled “best knight in the world.” A great knight, misled by Ash in the guise of an angel.
Wart A veteran Jack and ranger.
Waster, Dick Former archer of the company, and now Ser Milus’s squire.
Wha’hae A veteran scout and ranger, member of the green banda of the company.
Wilful Murder Dead, but somehow still present in the company, Willful Murder was an evil, lecherous, and dangerous master archer whose pronouncements were rarely correct while he was alive, even when he was sober. But as the company seems to gather some sort of supernatural power of the Wild to itself, it seems to have been focused on his legacy and memory.
Wilsit, Tom Scout of the green banda.
Wimarc, Lord Roger A lord of Jarsay in his own right, Wimarc volunteered as a squire with the Order of Saint Thomas to escape abuse at home, and is now a knight of the company. Almost silent.
Wishart, Grand Prior John John Wishart was born to a powerful Jarsay family heavily intermarried with the Gallish nobility. He was the third son, and his father placed him with the Order, which he has risen to command. A great knight, a modest hermeticist, and a good leader, he is adored by his men and women.
Woodstock, Squire Anne The Red Knight’s third squire, Anne Woodstock is from a knightly family in the Brogat, and is used to hard work.
Ydrik, Syr Captain of the Faery Knight’s bodyguard of irk knights.
Zachariah (Zakje) Ulk Also known as Count Zac. Commander of the Imperial Vardariotes, one of the four elite regiments of the empire. The four are, in order of precedence: the Nordikaans, the Vardariotes, the Scholae, and the Athanatoi, who are also called the “company.” Sometimes Sauce’s lover. From Moska, far east of Galle and even the Alamain Border.
extras
if you enjoyed
THE FALL OF DRAGONS
look out for
THE COURT OF BROKEN KNIVES
Empires of Dust
by
Anna Smith Spark
Governed by an imposturous emperor, it is the richest empire the world has ever known, and it is also doomed. Decadence has blinded its inhabitants to their vulnerability. The Yellow Empire is on the verge of invasion—and only one man can see it.
Haunted by prophetic dreams, Orhan has hired a company of soldiers to cross the desert to reach the capital city. Once they enter the palace, they have one mission: Kill the emperor, then all those who remain. Only from the ashes can a new empire be built.
The company is a group of good, ordinary soldiers, for whom this is a mission like any other. But the strange boy Marith who walks among them is no ordinary soldier. Young, ambitious, and impossibly charming, Marith has something dark hiding in his past—and in his blood.
Chapter 1
Knives.
Knives everywhere. Coming down like rain.
Down to close work like that, men wrestling in the mud, jabbing at each other, too tired to care anymore. Just die and get it over with. Half of them fighting with their guts hanging out of their stomachs, stinking of shit, oozing pink and red and white. Half-dead men lying in the filth. Screaming. A whole lot of things screaming.
Impossible to tell who’s who anymore. Mud and blood and shadows and that’s it. Kill them! Kill them all! Keep killing until we’re all dead. The knife jabs and twists and the man he’s fighting falls sideways, all the breath going out of him with a sigh of relief. Another there behind. Gods, his arms ache. His head aches. Blood in his eyes. He twists the knife again and thrusts with a broken-off sword and that man too dies. Fire explodes somewhere over to the left. White as maggots. Silent as maggots. Then shrieks as men burn.
He swings the stub of the sword and catches a man on the leg, not hard but hard enough so the man stumbles and he’s on him quick with the knife. A good lot of blood and the man’s down and dead, still flapping about like a fish but you can see in his eyes that he’s finished, his legs just haven’t quite caught up yet.
The sun is setting, casting long shadows. Oh beautiful evening! Stars rising in a sky the color of rotting wounds. The Dragon’s Mouth. The White Lady. The Dog. A good star, the Dog. Brings plagues and fevers and inflames desire. Its rising marks the coming of summer. So maybe no more campaigning in the sodding rain. Wet leather stinks. Mud stinks. Shit stinks, when the latrine trench overflows.
Another burst of white fire. He hates the way it’s silent. Unnatural. Unnerving. Screams again. Screams so bad your ears ring for days. The sky weeps and howls and it’s difficult to know what’s screaming. You, or the enemy, or the other things.
Men are fighting in great clotted knots like milk curds. He sprints a little to where two men are struggling together. Leaps at one from behind, pulls him down, skewers him. Hard crack of bone, soft lovely yield of fat and innards. Suety. The other yells hoarsely and swings a punch at him. Lost his knife, even. Bare knuckles. He ducks and kicks out hard, overbalances and almost falls. The man kicks back, tries to get him in a wrestling grip. Up close together, two pairs of teeth gritted at each other. A hand smashes his face, gets his nose, digs in. He bites at it. Dirty. Calloused. Iron taste of blood bright in his mouth. But the hand won’t let up, crushing his face into his skull. He swallows and almost chokes on the blood pouring from the wound he’s made. Blood and snot and shreds of cracked dry human skin. Manages to get his knife in and stabs hard into the back of the man’s thigh. Not enough to kill, but the hand jerks out from his face. Lashes out and gets his opponent in the soft part of the throat, pulls his knife out and gazes around the battlefield at the figures hacking at each other while the earth rots beneath them. All eternity, they’ve been fighting. All the edges blunted. Sword edges and knife edges and the edges in the mind. Keep killing. Keep killing. Keep killing till we’re all dead.
And then he’s dead. A blade gets him in the side, in the weak point under the shoulder where his armor has to give to let the joint move. Far in, twisting. Aiming down. Killing wound. He hears his body rip. Oh gods. Oh gods and demons. Oh gods and demons and fuck. He swings round, strikes at the man who’s stabbed him. The figure facing him is a wraith, scarlet with blood, head open oozing out brain stuff. You’re dying, he thinks. You’re dying and you’ve killed me. Not fair.
Shadows twist round them. We’re all dying, he thinks, one way or another. Just some of us quicker than others. You fight and you die. And always another twenty men queuing up behind you.
Why we march and why we die,
And what life means … it’s all a lie.
Death! Death! Death!
Understands that better than he’s ever understood anything, even his own name.
But suddenly, for a moment, he’s not sure he wants to die.
The battlefield falls silent. He blinks and sees light.
A figure in silver armor. White, shining, blazing with light like the sun. A red cloak billowing in the wind. Moves through the ranks of the dead and the dying and the light beats onto them, pure and clean.
“Amrath! Amrath!” Voices whispering like the wind blowing across salt marsh. Voices calling like birds.
Here, walking among us, bright as summer dew.
“Amrath! Amrath!” The shadows fall away as the figure passes. Everything is light.
“Amrath! Amrath!” The men cheer with one voice. No longer one side or the other, just men gazing and cheering as the figure passes. He cheers until his throat aches. Feels restored, seeing it. No longer tired and wounded and dying. Healed. Strong.
“Amrath! Amrath!”
The figure halts. Gazes around. Searching. Finds. A dark-clad man leaps forward, swaying into the light. Poised across from the shining figure, yearning toward it. Draws a sword burning with blue flame.
“Amrath! Amrath!” Harsh voice like crows, challenging. “Amrath!”
He watches joyfully. So beautiful! Watches and nothing in the world matters, except to behold the radiance of his god.
The bright figure draws a sword that shines like all the stars and the moon and the sun. A single dark ruby in its hilt. The dark figure rushes onwards, screeching something. Meets the bright figure with a clash. White light and blue fire. Blue fire and white light. His eyes hurt almost as he watches. But he cannot bear to look away. The two struggle together. Like a candle flame flickering. Like the dawn sun on the sea. The silver sword comes up, throws the dark figure back. Blue fire blazes, engulfing everything, the shining silver armor running with flame. Crash of metal, sparks like a blacksmith’s anvil. The shining figure takes a step back defensively, parries, strikes out. The other blocks it. Roars. Howls. Laughs. The mage blade swings again, slicing, trailing blue fire. Blue arcs in the evening gloom. Shapes and words, written on the air. Death words. Pain words. Words of hope and fear and despair. The shining figure parries again, the silver sword rippling beneath the impact of the other’s blade. So brilliant with light that rainbows dance on the ground around it. Like a woman’s hair throwing out drops of water, tossing back her head in summer rain. Like snow falling. Like colored stars. The two fighters shifting, stepping in each other’s footprints. Stepping in each other’s shadows. Circling like birds.