Legends Read online

  LEGENDS

  * * *

  Stories in Honour of

  David Gemmell

  LEGENDS

  Stories in Honour of

  David Gemmell

  Edited by Ian Whates

  NewCon Press

  England

  First edition, published November 2013

  by NewCon Press

  in association with The David Gemmell Legend Awards for Fantasy

  Compilation copyright © 2013 by Ian Whates

  Introduction copyright © 2013 by Stan Nicholls

  “Or So Legend has It” copyright © 2013 by James Barclay

  “A Blade to the Heart” copyright © 2013 by Gaie Sebold

  “Return to Arden Falls” copyright © 2013 by Ian Whates

  “The Drake Lords of Kyla” copyright © 2013 by Storm Constantine

  “A Tower of Arkrondurl” copyright © 2013 by Tanith Lee

  “Who Walks With Death” copyright © 2013 by Jonathan Green

  “Skipping Town” copyright © 2013 by Joe Abercrombie

  “The Land of the Eagle” copyright © 2013 by Juliet E McKenna

  “All Hail to the Oak” copyright © 2013 by Anne Nicholls

  “Swords and Circle” copyright © 2013 by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  “Fairyland” copyright © 2013 by Jan Siegel

  “Mountain Tea” copyright © 2013 by Sandra Unerman

  “The League of Resolve” copyright © 2013 Stan Nicholls

  All rights reserved, including the right to produce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Also available as:

  ISBN: 978-1-907069-56-7 (hardback)

  ISBN: 978-1-907069-57-4 (softback)

  Cover art © 2013 by Dominic Harman

  Cover layout by Andy Bigwood

  David Gemmell silhouette courtesy of the David Gemmell Legend Awards

  eBook design by Tim C Taylor

  Text layout by Storm Constantine

  Contents

  1. Introduction – Stan Nicholls

  2. Or So Legend has It – James Barclay

  3. A Blade to the Heart – Gaie Sebold

  4. Return to Arden Falls – Ian Whates

  5. The Drake Lords of Kyla – Storm Constantine

  6. A Tower of Arkrondurl – Tanith Lee

  7. Who Walks With Death – Jonathan Green

  8. Skipping Town – Joe Abercrombie

  9. The Land of the Eagle – Juliet E McKenna

  10. All Hail to the Oak – Anne Nicholls

  11. Swords and Circle – Adrian Tchaikovsky

  12. Fairyland – Jan Siegel

  13. Mountain Tea – Sandra Unerman

  14. The League of Resolve – Stan Nicholls

  15. About the Authors

  Honouring Fantasy:

  An Introduction

  by Stan Nicholls

  In a speech at our awards ceremony a couple of years ago, Alain Nevant of French publisher Bragelonne, our principal sponsor, referred to the international fantasy and science fiction community as a family. One that could sometimes be likened to both the Walton and Addams families, but a family nonetheless.

  The generosity of the family members who have provided stories for Legends made this anthology possible.

  When David Gemmell died on 28th July 2006, aged 57, friends and colleagues wanted to find a way to honour his life and work. The consensus was to create an award in Gemmell’s name.

  Apart from commemorating a widely admired author, we felt there was a need for a proper award for fantasy. By which I mean what might be called ‘pure’ fantasy – the kind Gemmell wrote – that, at least here in the UK, seemed unregarded. Science fiction, horror, crime and other genres have their prizes, we reasoned, so why not fantasy?

  We made a false start. Perhaps we were too many cooks, with too many diverse ideas about what we wanted to do and how to do it. In any event the project went into abeyance for a while.

  The impasse was broken by the writer and Gemmell protégé Deborah Miller. Rather than endless discussion and urging other people to do something, she argued, we had to roll up our sleeves and get on with it. More than anything else, Deborah’s drive and determination was what made the dream a reality.

  A core committee was formed, with Deborah as Award Administrator. Gareth Wilson, who has a good claim on being David Gemmell’s Number One Fan, came aboard as our Webmaster. Mike “Sparks” Rennie, who has provided the Tech and Logistics for numerous conventions, agreed to do the same for us; and Christine Harrison brought her fiscal expertise to the role of Treasurer. My wife, Anne Nicholls, took on editorship of the award ceremony programme book, and I had the honour of being offered the position of Chair, which, after a brief period of trepidation and false modesty, I accepted.

  We wanted to create an award recognising the best fantasy novel of any given year. What else could we call it but the Legend Award, after Gemmell’s first, most celebrated novel?

  There were three options: 1) have a jury decide; 2) have the public determine a shortlist and a jury settle the final outcome; 3) have a completely open vote with no jury.

  Every juried award, particularly in a specialist area like fantasy, has the perennial problem of finding suitable judges. We considered a number of ways to resolve this problem, including the possibility of having a judging panel drawn from a pool of fantasy readers. But the massive amount of reading involved – our first longlist ran to over ninety titles – and the fact that we couldn’t reimburse people for their time and effort, made that a big ask.

  Adopting the second option – part public vote, part jury – would boil the longlist down to a manageable number, but didn’t solve the practical difficulty of finding suitable judges.

  In arriving at the decision to adopt a totally open vote we weren’t being critical of awards that choose the juried route. We’ve no doubt that their verdicts are reached honourably. But apart from the practicable considerations involved in mustering juries we have what might be called a philosophical objection to that way of doing things. Frankly, the idea of a small group handing down pronouncements about what deserves an award and what doesn’t strikes us as almost elitist, and against the spirit of our times. In an age when masses of ordinary people use technology to topple despotic regimes and change government policies, surely they can be trusted to vote for a book award.

  When our committee has to confront difficult decisions we have a simple rule of thumb – ‘What would Dave have wanted?’ Knowing the importance he placed on readers, we’re sure Gemmell would have favoured as democratic a system as possible when it came to an award bearing his name. So we put our faith in the wisdom of crowds.

  We attracted some criticism for having a public vote. In the same way that we would have been criticised if we’d gone with a jury. One objection was that readers would band together to vote for their favourite author. But unless people are being strong-armed into voting in some unimaginable way, then presumably they really do favour the writer they’re voting for, whether in unison with others or not. If some kind of partiality should creep in – although it’s difficult to think how it might – our contention is that a sufficiently large pool of voters dilutes it to the point of insignificance.

  This is how the process works. A longlist is compiled from titles submitted by publishers, and the public are welcome to suggest additional titles they think worthy and eligible. The longlist is voted on and the five titles with the most votes form the shortlist. A second round of votes determines the winner. We have robust systems in place to prevent multiple voting.

  We didn’t know what to expect i
n our first year. In the event, the Legend Award garnered almost 11,000 votes from 75 countries.

  Simultaneous with working out how, we were looking for where. After investigating numerous venues, we decided on The Magic Circle headquarters in London’s Euston. To say the place has character would be an understatement, and we loved its eccentricity and intimacy from the minute we stepped over the threshold. Securing The Magic Circle as the annual location for our ceremony is thanks to our aforementioned sponsor Bragelonne, France’s leading publisher of fantasy and sf. Bragelonne’s Alain Nevant and Stephane Marsan were also friends of Gemmell, and his French publishers,

  With the how and where sorted, we turned our minds to what. We wanted something special as a trophy. Simon Fearnhamm of the Raven Armoury volunteered the perfect solution – a half-sized replica of Snaga, the awesome axe wielded by Gemmell’s illustrious hero Druss. Simon’s Snaga is a truly beautiful hand-crafted artefact. With a price tag of approximately £2,500 when made to commission, we believe it to be the most valuable trophy on offer in the fantasy/sf fields.

  With the permission and support of Dave’s widow Stella and the Gemmell family, and the backing of the publishing and speculative fiction communities, our first presentation took place at The Magic Circle on 19th June 2009. We were particularly pleased that Dave’s daughter Kate and son Luke were able to join us for the ceremony. We began with a spirited reading from Legend by James Barclay, yet another of Dave’s friends. James’ opening recitations from Gemmell’s works, and his conduct of an auction of fantasy memorabilia that precedes the presentation, have become invaluable staples of our ceremonies.

  Other ‘Friends of the Awards’ as we like to think of them – people not actually on the committee but who have proved unstinting in helping the process run smoothly – include, among others, Deborah Miller’s daughter Tiffany Lau, Mark Yon, Nick Summit, Elaine Clarke, Anna Kennedy, Rachel Oakes and, again keeping it in the family, our daughter Marianne Fifer.

  The first winner of the Legend Award defied expectations – Andrzej Sapkowski’s Blood of Elves, a novel translated from Polish. The four runners-up each received a ‘mini Snaga’ by way of compensation, a practice we’ve continued.

  Buoyed by the success of our initial ceremony, we decided to add two new categories in 2010. The Morningstar Award honours the best debut novel, something we thought especially important as David Gemmell was noted for the help and encouragement he gave to many aspiring writers. The Ravenheart Award was designed to recognise the best fantasy cover art, an aspect of the genre we felt deserved acknowledgement. We were now officially The David Gemmell Awards For Fantasy.

  That year the Morningstar went to Pierre Pevel for The Cardinal’s Blades and the Ravenheart to Didier Graffet for the cover of Joe Abercrombie’s Best Served Cold. The Legend was again a surprise but richly deserved. It went to Graham McNeill for Empire. 15.500 votes were cast overall.

  2010 was also notable in that we welcomed SFX, the UK’s number one sf and fantasy magazine, as our media partner.

  2011 saw the Morningstar awarded to Darius Hinks for Warrior Priest, the Ravenheart to Olof Erla Einarsdottir for the cover of Power and Majesty by Tansy Rayner Roberts, and the Legend to Brandon Sanderson for The Way of Kings.

  Patrick Rothfuss’ The Wise Man’s Fear took the Legend Award in 2012; Helen Lowe’s The Heir of Night the Morningstar, and Raymond Swanland the Ravenheart for his cover for William King’s Blood of Aenarion.

  One of the things that has delighted us about the awards is their international flavour, with prizes going to authors and artists from France, Iceland, Poland and the US as well as the UK. Proof, if it was needed, that the literary expression of the fantastic knows no borders.

  This year has seen a tragedy, and great sadness for everyone involved with the awards. On 6th May Deborah Miller passed away. She was 50 years old.

  Deborah had first been diagnosed with breast cancer in 2001, and went into remission several times. The condition surfaced again early in 2013, and she fought it with her usual resolve, but treatment proved ineffective. She passed peacefully, with her husband, Bill, at her side.

  Deborah faced her illness with courage and good humour. It’s a testament to her tenacity that, despite her illness, she found the strength to do so much for the Gemmell Awards. This book is dedicated to her, with love and fond remembrance.

  The proceeds from Legends will help perpetuate the Gemmell Awards, and for that we have Ian Whates and Newcon Press to thank. We’re also indebted to all the writers who have selflessly contributed their time and talent.

  But that’s what families do.

  Stan Nicholls

  Chair, David Gemmell Awards For Fantasy

  August 2013

  Or So Legend has It…

  James Barclay

  “Get back in line! You’re opening up my right flank.”

  Hirad ignored the shout from his left, blocked a sword thrust, ducked beneath a wild swing and buried his blade in the chest of his enemy. The man fell, blood surging from the wound and spurting from his mouth.

  The smell of blood was in Hirad’s nose and fear was in the eyes of those he faced. Here he was just twenty years old, or something like that, and fighting for Lord Arlen against Baron Pontois. This was what he had been born to do. It would make him rich. It might even make him famous.

  Hirad made to move further up into the thick of the enemy. He was hauled backwards, a hand clamping on to the collar of his leather jerkin, almost pulling him on to his back and two paces from his next target. Fighting elsewhere was fierce. Spells crashed to the ground, keeping reserve forces back. Spell shields glowed bright under impact.

  “Stand in line!” barked the voice.

  “Who put you in charge?”

  “I’m not in charge, just keen on living through the morning. Focus.”

  The enemy came again. Hirad was desperate to look at the warrior to his left. More, he was desperate to punch his fat mouth but that would have to wait. Here on the mud and blood of the battlefield, Arlen’s forces faced perhaps three hundred men and mages who were seeking to annexe the key routes to Gyernath harbour. Hirad stood with around half that number but with their flanks well-defended by mages and around fifty horsemen; they had successfully narrowed the skirmish line and the odds were beginning to even out.

  Hirad’s face burned with humiliation but he waited. Their section of the line closed. To his left, Hirad could hear the sound of a sword tip beating time on the ground. The tapping ceased. Hirad sensed the tension in the warriors flanking him. He attacked.

  The man in front of him was wiry and tall, holding a dagger and long sword. Hirad feinted to strike to his left. The man moved his dagger to counter. Hirad switched his sword to his right hand and sliced it into the man’s side. The man rocked back. Hirad took a pace forward.

  “No!” roared the voice from his left, joined this time by another voice to his right.

  The tip of a double-handed blade missed Hirad’s left arm by a hair before chopping into an enemy midriff. The unfortunate was slammed sideways into another Pontois fighter, his guts spilling onto the mud.

  Hirad stabbed his blade through the heart of his opponent and spared the warrior a glance. He was massive, a bit older than Hirad, with a shaven head and a very broad chest. In other words, a typical slow-moving, muscle-stuffed, walking corpse like so many he’d seen already. Mostly face down in the dirt.

  “Next time you walk in front of his arc, he’ll take your kidneys out too,” came the voice from the right.

  The fighters in front of them were hesitating. Hirad turned back and growled, beckoning them on. If anything, they backed off further. Orders rolled across the battlefield.

  “Back. In. Line,” said the lumbering one.

  Unbelievably, a third voice chimed in. Hirad felt his blood bubbling.

  “They’re breaking off across the front. Perhaps we could all step back and cool down.”

  Hirad stared at the man who wo
uld have been his next victim, seeing the relief in his face and the shake in his arm. The Pontois lackey nodded in what was presumably supposed to be respect. Hirad spat on the ground. Orders rang across the lines once more. The two sides parted and the stretcher and healer parties raced in.

  Hirad, his sword still dripping blood, turned to the loud mouth. There he was, cleaning gore from his two-handed blade with an already filthy rag. A mage, presumably the one who’d piped up just now, landed nearby, dismissing the ShadowWings spell. He was an elf; probably thought himself more important, like most of his kind. Hirad walked up close to the muscled one, aware the blood of his sword was dripping on the other’s boot. He had to tip his head back a little to glare into the smug face.

  “Risk my life again and I will dance in your guts once I’ve opened your fat stomach.”

  The big man continued cleaning his sword, not looking at Hirad while he replied.

  “You misunderstand what was happening,” he said. “Despite my advice to stay in line, you chose to move up. You also moved slightly left, placing you in the arc of my blade. You risked your own life. You risked mine twice and the man on your right flank too. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Think you can teach me how to fight, smart mouth?” said Hirad, his head hot and his grip tightening on his blade. “Want to try right now?”

  Hirad bounced back a couple of paces and brought his blade to the ready. The sword cleaning continued, though at least the eyes looked towards him now.

  “If you’re looking for someone to vent your anger on, our opposition will be back once the battlefield is cleared. Your energies are best directed that way.”

  Every word he said stoked Hirad’s anger. “Is that so? And yours are in assuming command to cover up your lack of ability as a fighter, right?”

  That got his attention. The eyes in that bull head narrowed and colour appeared in his cheeks. He dropped the rag on the ground. His sword tip traced a line in the mud as it moved in Hirad’s direction.