No More Than Pen and Ink

Everything slid around her, a gray tunnel of flashing lights darted by. And then, before her mind even had a chance to react to change of scenery Underfoot landed, still standing on her feet, but now in a barred cell in a hewn-stone room, there were bright runes running along the metal bars, the floor and the ceiling. She took this all in with a glance and then curled in on herself. This wasn’t supposed to be how it went. Lightfinger said they wouldn’t go to jail. Lightfinger said she could be useful. This wasn’t right.

There was a man in the room, he was clean and wore a silver breastplate with a curious design of spiked plates along the back, the breastplate too was lined with runes. The guard had come to attention when she had appeared, but seeing that it was only a dirty little girl he relaxed a little, he left his spear leaning against the wall, shook his head and walked over to the door of the cell. “Can’t be the main catch.” He said, looking ruefully at her, there was genuine sadness in his eyes. “Sorry you got mixed up in all of this. But we can’t let you out until we know you aren’t a manifester.” He said, reaching into a pouch at his waist and reaching through the bars to hand her a piece of hard candy. Underfoot looked up at him, and was about to reach for the piece of candy when there was a dull whump and Clover appeared beside her, looking surprised for the first time that Underfoot had seen. She rushed to catch Underfoot’s hand, the tortise-shell cat was squeezed tightly to her chest and giving a intense glare at the guard, fur up and teeth barred. The guard withdrew his hand.

Underfoot pulled Clover towards her and patted her head, all the while glaring at the guard. “It will be all right.” She didn’t care much that she was locked up, part of her had expected it, but she felt responsible that Clover had ended up here as well. The girl shouldn’t have been following her, and since she was Underfoot should not have gone with Lightfinger on his crazy heist. She hugged Clover tightly and wished that they were outside.

Another person arrived in the cell without a sound. One second it was just Underfoot, Clover and the cat huddled in one corner of the cell and the next the threatening figure of the Beggar King stood in the center of the cell, between them and the guard, piecemeal brown cloak swirling in a wind that wasn’t there. His dagger glinted dully in one hand, and the staff in his other seethed with power as he coiled his body as if ready to pounce.

Underfoot cowered further into the corner, trying to make her mind work through the shock of surprise, the man looked mad and she didn’t trust him any more than she trusted the guard. But Clover seemed to have relaxed, loosening the grip she held on Underfoot, her other hand held a small makeshift dagger fashioned from a scrap of metal sharpened to a jagged edge, she now stood strong facing the cell door and was glaring ferociously at the guard. The cat was nowhere to be seen.

The Beggar King glared at the guard through the walls of the cell, his eyes flashing with hatred. “Let the girls out.” He said in a deep menacing tone, his eyes narrowing, causing the scars on his face to crease in hideous ways.

Underfoot shivered and started to curl further into herself. But she saw Clover, the little girl standing more boldly than she was. And she felt ashamed for giving up. She hadn’t lived the hard life in the streets of Edge that Clover had. She wasn’t prepared for this. But she tried to stand as straight as the younger girl and to glare at the guard with the same ferocity. But her efforts fell flat. Though she did manage to remain standing.

The guard stood to arms as soon as the Beggar King appeared, backing across the room, his hand reaching for his spear where he had left it leaning against the wall. “It will all be taken care of if you’ll just relax sir.” The guard seemed a little unsettled. “If they are not guilty of crimes or considered a possible future danger to the city than they will be let go with no harm.”

The Beggar King’s face twisted again, into a grimace of disgust, or a smile of pleasure it was impossible to tell which, and he shook his head. “So be it.” He raised his staff and slammed it into the ground, raising a cloud of stone-dust. The runes on the doorway shifted, stopping their continual dance for a moment and went out. The lock clicked. In a moment so quick he could hardly have moved at all the Beggar King was outside the cell, the rusty knife swung and the guard fell, a pool of blood spreading from his throat, dyeing the floor and his breastplate crimson. The Beggar King looked down at his kill, cleaned the knife and then turned and beckoned for Underfoot to come out.

She found that she was leaning against the back wall of the cell and It took her a moment to realize that Clover had already moved and was searching the fallen guard’s pockets, producing a few gold coins, a dagger, a medallion and the bag of hard candy and tucking them into her own clothing. Before Underfoot had a chance to move there was another dull whump and Lightfinger appeared in the cell looking throughly bewildered. This state did not improve on finding himself in a cell with the door open and the guard freshly dead on the floor in front of him.

He looked at the fallen body, the Beggar King and the two girls. “What happened?” He asked. “Where are we?”

Underfoot was shaking so badly she couldn’t answer. She had seen a man die. Her mind was helpfully blank on the subject, but her heart and breath were racing as her body tried to catch up to the events that had just happened. Apparently her shock showed clearly on her face because Lightfinger bent down to support her.

“I don’t know what happened, but I think we need to get out of here as fast as possible.” He said.

The Beggar King nodded and then beckoned for them to follow and glided towards the door. But before he had a chance to touch it the door opened. Clover quickly hid behind the Beggar King and Lightfinger froze.

The dark wood door opened with a bang, a man man walked into the room quickly wearing a white robe with silver and gold embroidery. Underfoot recognized him as the man who had helped her at the front of the church. He did not stop to talk or pause in surprise on seeing that his guard was dead, or that the cell was open, he just strood confidantly into the room while raising a finger and speaking a single word in a language that was alien to their ears.

The room darkened and Underfoot felt the same chill that she had felt at the church and she doubled over as the sickness caught her again, but she managed to keep her head up and her eyes flew wide open as two dark shapes appeared on either side of the man. These figures had little form, and apparently no substance, merely appearing as grey shadows in the world around them. Faster than Underfoot could react, and with no visible sign from their master the two shadows darted across the room, leaving trails of smoke behind them. The first one darted straight towards the Beggar King who turned to meet it head-on but instead of impacting the ragged old man the shadow passed straight through him, leaving a hole that seemed to swallow the Beggar King from the inside. But when the shadow came out the other side it seemed to be impeded, locked in a wrestling embrace with another, smaller creature of darker shadow-stuff.

The second shadow darted straight towards Underfoot, she felt the world darken around her as it approached, everything focused to a single point which was the shadow-creature bearing down on her. She felt the chill spread through her body, her breath caught in her throat and she felt her pulse slowing even though her heart should have been racing. The creature reached out towards her, wrapping shadow tendrils around her and then quickly engulfing her. She cried out as the creature enveloped her, she felt so cold, a mind-numbing chill ran all through her body, until she almost thought that she was already dead. She collapsed to the ground and then the world exploded into heat and light again, heat so warm it almost burned her skin. And the shadow was gone, Lightfinger was standing over her with fire in his hands and a determined look on his face as he stared across the room at the robed man. The second shadow was rushing towards Underfoot, its insubstantial opponent forgotten, she could feel the hungry frenzy of the creature as it came, could feel the cold growing again and she inwardly wept. She didn’t think she could take that pain again. As the creature raced towards her the darker shadow caught at it’s trailing edge and they both disappeared, fading into wisps like a puff of smoke. Leaving a trailing laugh that sounded like the Beggar King.

All this happened in a moment. The man in the doorway looked surprised and stood there for a moment. Lightfinger rushed towards the window: the only other exit in the room: a small opening just wide enough for him to possibly fit through fire burst from him as he charged, washing over the window, obviously intended to melt it’s way through. But no opening appeared: Underfoot could see little runes on the window flare, sending a wave of rune-light washing around the entire room. This place was so thoroughly enchanted they would never get out. Clover rushed to Underfoot’s side and grabbed her hand so tightly her knuckles went white, she looked absolutely terrified. Underfoot tried to get to her feet, but her body moved slowly.

The man in the doorway raised a hand and said another word and the body of the slain guard rose to its feet and rushed to grab Lightfinger from behind. With another twitch of his fingers Underfoot felt Clover being dragged away from her, towards the man in the doorway. She caught Clover’s hand and held on as tightly as she could.

There was terror in the smaller girls eyes. Her face was paler even than it had been before and her eyes were wide. “Don’t let him take me,” she said.

“I won’t” Underfoot responded without even thinking about it. But how could she keep the promise. The pull was getting stronger, and she could see Lightfinger pinned and held-face-down on the floor by the guard whose armor was covered in his own blood. He was struggling and swearing, magical fire washed towards the guard, but the runes on his breastplate flared and the fire washed over him harmlessly.

Clover’s fingers began to slip. “I’m scared.” She said.

“It will be all right.” Underfoot said. She felt herself growing cold again. All the runes in the room flared brightly, different colors washing over the room until there was almost nothing else.

And then the light vanished and Clover was gone.

Then everything went black.

<-Previous Next->

I have liked Brandon Sanderson since his first book was published, his detailed worlds, original magic systems, and the way he weaves his magic and character development so firmly into the world in fantastic stories. Mistborn is one of the best series I have read in recent times, Elantris was fantastic, and Warbreaker was wonderfully epic. I love the way he consistently turns the genre on its head. And now, after working on completing Robert Jordan’s (nothing if not genre conventional) Wheel of Time series, Sanderson turns in the first volume of his own vast world spanning fantasy epic.

And it is good.

His writing is crisp and clear, not overly flowery but it reads really smoothly. The language subtly reflects the character of the viewpoint characters as well as the world and culture of the story, most notably Sanderson manages to really capture the flavor in the passages he quotes from the titular fictional book “the Way of Kings”. The characters themselves are well rounded, motivated by subtle shades of their pasts and they act in real and surprising ways. They each have their own secrets, their own past and motivations as well as complex morals and personal struggles.The way that character back-story is woven into the main narrative is masterfully handled and finely paced, trickling out the details throughout the narrative so we learn their motivations for their present actions just as they become necessary, in whole it makes the characters exceptionally deep and engaging.

The structure of the novel itself is somewhat original in that it is broken up into discrete sections called “books” with each “book” dedicated to the stories of 2-4 of the 4 primary viewpoint characters which are themselves participating in three separate story arcs that take place in different locations and slowly connect into a masterfully epic plot. Between each of these “books” are Interludes, consisting of character vignettes that take place in other parts of the world, with other characters, one of which runs parallel to the main story and builds in a way that makes it clearly part of the overarching plot of the series that this book establishes. Each of these little vignettes gives details to some part of the world, or other characters, or the overarching plot. Despite the number of viewpoint characters and the distance of the interludes to the main story, unlike many other epic fantasy works I have read that had different viewpoint characters (such as Wheel of Time) this book managed to balance the viewpoints and make each character engaging enough that I did not ever feel frustrated by the viewpoint switch.

The world itself and the magic is original while at the same time playing with some recognizable tropes. Yes we are in a medieval-ish society (with access to relics of long lost magic) that is organized into a feudal system, but the world itself has been shaped by the Highstorms, magically powerful storms that sweep across the land, and the detail of the adaptations of the world, and society to these storms is just fascinating. Every detail seems to have been thought out, from the political system, the history, the storms, the magic and how it all comes together. The magic actually has a cost (in stormlight, or gemstones infused with stormlight as the case may be) and the economic implications of practical gemstones is even taken into consideration, emeralds become the most valuable because they can be used to transmute stone into organic material and even food, and this makes is easy for a well funded army to travel far beyond their supply lines. Everything comes together in the story.

While the novel balances viewpoints, character backgrounds, and world-building it is at the same time playing out scenes of well paced action alongside deep character interactions, secretive political intrigues, and some startlingly deep philosophical discussions. This is not only an epic tale, but it also serves as a practical exploration of leadership; discussing the use of law and order, morality of justice, and what right men have to lead others. And it isn’t just a surface discussion, it raises some very deep points.

All together it is a massive, detailed and well-written work that comes together in an climax. And even at 1000 pages and a self-sufficient story in its own right it feels like it is a wonderful epic prologue setting up an even wider story, and it left me wanting the rest. The Way of Kings reminds me of the Wheel of Time in some ways, but it is certainly better then any individual work of that series, more finely crafted, more original and more insightful. It also made me think at times of Dune, and I found that it compared favorably even there, the character development was more personal, and the scope even larger.

The one concern I have stems from the revelation that the “almighty creator” was just a fallible man and the hints of dualism underpinning the cosmology. But I can’t fully judge the cosmology until it has been more fully revealed.

The court was full upon the day
When evil was revealed
When wrongful sentence came to play
And poem’s doom was sealed
The sound of wood on wood was heard
The gavel struck the bench
“To order! To order” the judge averred
Exuding evil stench
The accused just shook their heads and sighed
and resigned to sit their place
“Bring on the charges,” the judge decried
“and hurry on this case”

The poets rose and made their plea
“By choking rules
and restricting lies,
The accused have slain our work
We cannot make up anything
Within their hateful scheme.
For Rhyme has sing-song voice
And Meter robs the choice of words
But neither has done more harm
Than Abstraction: who is the very worst”

“The charges are made. How do you plead?”
The judge did gravely ask.
Rhyme then struck a pose and cried:
“Innocent, as you would cede
If you would but take a look
For when my use is proper
You’ll find I sound aright.
You’re the only one to blame
If I end up sounding trite.”

Meter shook his head and gave a bitter laugh:
“These charges are not funny
Though the semblance of a joke
There are too many words
For even you to quite exhaust
The words you chose: the picture
I only give the frame.
Is it the frame’s fault alone
If the picture is no good?”

Abstraction merely sat in dream
Abstractly feeling all
But seeing not a thing
At last he stood with courage
“What could be worse than these?”
He gave a dreadful laugh
“Stolen choice and ruined words
Such evils I have never seen
Of what, pray tell am I accused.
I cannot answer shadows,
Nor go to death for nothing.”

The judge now stood, his face gone red
“The charge was clear enough you’ll see
To sentence you to death.”
He turned to face the jury
“What have you found, my friends?”

The rumpled poets rose.
“We find that these accused,
Are guilty on all accounts.
No mercy should be given them,
They must pay for all their sins.”
The gavel fell once more,
“Guilty!” the call did echo ‘round
“We have found them guilty, as they were charged”
The judge declared
And sentenced them to death.

And so fell poem’s doom
In the same court where cliché was tried,
Where he too faced his ‘crimes’
There Rhyme and reason were thrown out
And meter torn to shreds
And no-one there did notice
Abstraction slipped their grasp.

Notes:

I originally wrote this poem about six years ago. At the time I was involved in a young writers support and critique forum (on Orson Scott Card’s website) where the poetry section was full of whiny emo kids pretending they knew something about poetry and trying to tell everyone else not to try to be good because they couldn’t be. They complained any time someone dared strive for the excellence of actually rhyming, holding to a metrical scheme or *gasp* writing a poem. In a fit of annoyance I cranked out the Death of the Rhyming Poem, which remains to this day my commentary on contemporary poetry. It is the longest poem I have ever written and oddly enough the first poem I ever wrote that did not rhyme.

Since then I have continued to polish it up. Though it remains essentially the same, it has become smoother, more focused and has come to rhyme for some of its run. The rhyme scheme now intentionally breaks down as the trial progresses and the sentence is about to come to pass.

Like a rope life unwinds
like a ship she embarks
with sail unfurled
no guiding maps or marks

sometimes like a dancer
nimbly flying o’er the floor
sometimes grimly marching
like an army gone to war

she shows us many faces
as she carries us along
joker, terror, mother
and not a face awrong

she is every thing to every one
and different every time
the greatest perfect poem
with people-words to rhyme

always rushing onwards
through every hill and bend
so little time to ponder
before we hit the end

all words convene,
collect in one place
all knowledge beating
in one open chest

rows upon rows of leather-bound bricks
in halls collected: piled up in walls
sorted and stashed, made easy to find
a labyrinth designed to keep knowledge in

shrouded in silence, sophie sleeps.
guardians of knowledge are swift to repress
the least breath of sound
lest she startle awake and retreat

from those seeking wisdom
to overcome tasks
set before them by
stewards of truth

Sometimes seen between the trees
a flash of reddish brown
he fleetly dances through the brush
he wears the trickster’s crown

at first he’s seen and then he’s not
gone without a sound
the scent is caught, the hunt is off
every horse and man and hound
plowing through the forest
smashing leaf and stick to ground

but the quarry is a master
he knows his kingdom well
he leads a merry party
through forest hill and dell
they grow weary bearing forests cuts
their dogs soon loose the smell

so another band pretending
mastery of the land
is outwitted and eluded
by a creature ‘much less grand’

Audio: Heart of Fire

I was given into darkness
following the lord of night
in the cold hard lands of blackness
dark is more then lack of light.

stealing, lying, taking, burning
cursing all with every breath
never fearing, never learning
life is more then lack of death.

a heart of fire set me free
my master, lord and fate
cleansing eyes so I can see
love is more then lack of hate.

Darkness danced before my eyes
And I refused to see it
Telling tales and telling lies
And I, I did believe it

I might not always be faithful
but in the end I’ll always return
the others might be easy
but your perfection
more than warrants the work