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The Complete Soldier Son Trilogy: Shaman’s Crossing, Forest Mage, Renegade’s Magic
Robin Hobb
The complete Soldier Son Trilogy by international bestselling author Robin Hobb.‘In today’s crowded fantasy market Robin Hobb’s books are like diamonds in a sea of zircons’ George R. R. MartinWhen the two-hundred year war between the kingdoms of Vania and Landsing ended the Landsingers were left in triumphant possession of Vania's rich coal and coast territories.When young King Troven assumed the throne of Vania thirty years later, he was determined to restore her greatness, not through waging another assault upon their traditional enemies, but by looking in the opposite direction and colonising the wild plains and steppes to their east.Over the next twenty years, cavalry forces manage to subdue the rolling plains formerly wasted on nomadic herders and tribesmen.Troven's campaign restores the pride of the Varnian military and to reward them, Troven creates a new nobility that is extremely loyal to their monarch.Nevare Gerar is the second son of one of King Troven's new lords. Following in his father's footsteps, a commission as a cavalry officer at the frontier and an advantageous marriage await him, once he has completed his training at the King's Cavalry Academy.Enter the extraordinary world of Robin Hobb’s fantastic Soldier Son Trilogy.This bundle includes Shaman’s Crossing (book one), Forest Mage (book two) and Renegade’s Magic (book three).
The Complete Soldier Son Trilogy
Shaman’s Crossing Book One
Forest Mage Book Two
Renegade’s Magic Book Three
Robin Hobb
Copyright (#ulink_6a331aa6-a06f-5cfd-898a-ff6449068b53)
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Shaman’s Crossing © Robin Hobb 2005
Forest Mage © Robin Hobb 2006
Renegade’s Magic © Robin Hobb 2007
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers
Robin Hobb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007532148
Version: 2018–07–31
Contents
Cover (#u2a7680d0-d7bc-5918-9f2c-15bc40aae068)
Title Page (#u8b09f667-50c7-5ce3-885f-07420c8480f0)
Copyright (#u1975a757-5d69-5113-b4c6-ccce7c0ea120)
Map (#u0c740379-4ab4-5873-b18c-edb8de5b2188)
Shaman’s Crossing (#u50b34e26-8747-58b7-acae-9eb536ce27a0)
Forest Mage (#litres_trial_promo)
Renegade’s Magic (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Map (#ulink_92924857-a18d-568e-92e7-c2c475dfc5a4)
(#ulink_1ad87a3a-f069-53e0-a1d3-8cedce5f02b2)
Shaman’s Crossing
Book One of the Soldier Son Trilogy
Robin Hobb
Copyright (#ulink_40c9c9fc-3ac5-5341-b067-ee3cc22b91a0)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Published by Voyager 2006
Copyright © Robin Hobb 2005
Cover illustration © Jackie Morris
Map by Andrew Ashton
Robin Hobb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007196128
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780007236886
Version: 2018–07–31
Dedication (#ulink_ded9c28d-79e4-5b4d-b2d7-9d4cae1e0f5e)
To Caffeine and Sugar, my companions through many a long night of writing.
Contents
Cover (#u50b34e26-8747-58b7-acae-9eb536ce27a0)
Title Page (#u1e0e56f2-b32f-5d0a-beb0-d609a5c77fa3)
Copyright (#ulink_53d1f98b-1c8a-5631-bcf1-33bc453d6b4d)
Dedication (#ulink_836c7610-d856-5e58-92e1-4452a6cc4560)
One: Magic and Iron (#ulink_6ea63c7a-366c-5468-953b-d6b99b072bb1)
Two: Harbinger (#ulink_5552b38b-b0c5-5651-991a-8a004d21ab86)
Three: Dewara (#ulink_1c366eb9-9b3d-5cc2-ab36-edc21cd839b0)
Four: Crossing the Bridge (#ulink_939d797a-6808-5a1f-b255-ede80ea7acbe)
Five: The Return (#ulink_7a4eafad-e930-507d-8be4-7cc0662a0c0f)
Six: Sword and Pen (#ulink_4e31e9c0-2ebf-5a1a-bd08-7c568f637f40)
Seven: Journey (#ulink_4cc48ff0-8320-5dd4-9a9e-39f3d62d4736)
Eight: Old Thares (#ulink_1dc3fe32-a3ad-588e-8360-abc5a39c6f9a)
Nine: The Academy (#ulink_fb67fdcc-ed01-58dd-a7fe-e256b421b534)
Ten: Classmates (#ulink_47877f71-c615-582e-b289-2b878aa7ef4d)
Eleven: Initiation (#ulink_9cd80942-582d-5a4e-acd5-daadf24e6a9e)
Twelve: Letters From Home (#ulink_9657b88e-ec73-59e3-b492-368138cf37d8)
Thirteen: Bessom Gord (#ulink_81056e3e-a0a7-5264-8bc0-eee147377aa7)
Fourteen: Cousin Epiny (#ulink_5be60656-e838-53ca-a705-82f59232119f)
Fifteen: Séance (#ulink_4fd7c35b-c827-55db-9fae-9a1578ab08fd)
Sixteen: A Ride in the Park (#ulink_a1b88282-c42b-56e9-9175-d57984208661)
Seventeen: Tiber (#ulink_d9aaef7f-2b22-5d3e-a7b3-e3dc5922b975)
Eighteen: Accusations (#ulink_890a88cc-5527-5fee-be8d-85bf11c035a3)
Nineteen: Intervention (#ulink_56e31396-04d5-5001-9512-3ae3e65b9d97)
Twenty: Crossing (#ulink_364948ff-b06c-582f-99a7-ef90a9937303)
Twenty-One: Carnival (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Two: Disgrace (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Three: Plague (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Four: Vindication (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#ulink_fa1f1826-de1f-5e7e-aa47-778d179d7ea9)
Magic and Iron (#ulink_fa1f1826-de1f-5e7e-aa47-778d179d7ea9)
I remember well the first time I saw the magic of the plainspeople.
I was eight and my father had taken me with him on a trip to the outpost on Franner’s Bend. We had arisen before the dawn for the long ride; the sun was just short of standing at noon when we finally saw the flag waving over the walls of the outpost by the river. Once, Franner’s Bend had been a military fort on the contested border between the plainspeople and the expanding Kingdom of Gernia. Now it was well within the Gernian border, but some of its old martial glory persisted. Two great cannons guarded the gates, but the trade stalls set up against the mud-plastered stockade walls behind them dimmed their ferocity. The trail we had followed from Widevale now joined a road that picked its way among the remains of mud-brick foundations. Their roofs and walls were long gone, leaving the shells gaping at the sky like empty tooth sockets in a skull. I looked at them curiously as we passed, and dared a question. ‘Who used to live here?’
‘Plainspeople,’ Corporal Parth said. His tone said that was his full reply. Rising early did not suit his temperament, and I suspected already that he blamed me for having to get out of bed so early.
I held my tongue for a time, but then the questions burst out of me. ‘Why are all the houses broken and gone? Why did they leave? I thought the plainspeople didn’t have towns. Was this a plainspeople town?’
‘Plainspeople don’t have towns, they left because they left, and the houses are broken because the plainspeople didn’t know how to build any better than a termite does.’ Parth’s low-voiced answer implied that I was stupid for asking.
My father has always had excellent hearing. ‘Nevare,’ he said.
I nudged my horse to move up alongside my father’s taller mount. He glanced at me once, I think to be sure I was listening, and then said, ‘Most plainspeople did not build permanent towns. But some folk, like the Bejawi, had seasonal settlements. Franner’s Bend was one of them. They came with their flocks during the driest part of the year, for there would be grazing and water here. But they didn’t like to live for long in one place, and so they didn’t build to last. At other times of the year, they took their flocks out onto the plains and followed the grazing.’
‘Why didn’t they stay here and build something permanent?’
‘It wasn’t their way, Nevare. We cannot say they didn’t know how, for they did build monuments in various locations that were significant to them, and those monuments have weathered the tests of time very well. One day I shall take you to see the one named Dancing Spindle. But they did not make towns for themselves as we do, or devise a central government or provide for the common good of their people. And that was why they remained a poor, wandering folk, prey to the Kidona raiders and to the vagaries of the seasons. Now that we have settled the Bejawi and begun to teach them how to have permanent villages and schools and stores, they will learn to prosper.’
I pondered this. I knew the Bejawi. Some of them had settled near the north end of Widevale, my father’s holdings. I’d been to the settlement once. It was a dirty place, a random tumble of houses without streets, with rubbish and sewage and offal scattered all around it. I hadn’t been impressed. As if my father could hear my thoughts, he said, ‘Sometimes it takes a while for people to adapt to civilization. The learning process can be hard. But in the end it will be of great benefit to them. The Gernian people have a duty to lift the Bejawi folk and help them learn civilized ways.’
Oh, that I understood. Just as struggling with mathematics would one day make me a better soldier. I nodded and continued to ride at his stirrup as we approached the outpost.
The town of Franner’s Bend had become a traders’ rendezvous, where Gernian merchants sold overpriced wares to homesick soldiers and purchased hand-made plainsworked goods and trinkets from the bazaar for the city markets in the west. The military contingent had a barracks and headquarters there which was still the heart of the town but the trade had become the new reason for its existence. Outside the fortified walls a little community had sprung up around the riverboat docks. A lot of common soldiers retired there, eking out their existence with hand-outs from their younger comrades. Once, I suppose, the fort at Franner’s Bend had been of strategic importance. Now it was little more than another backwater on the river. The flags were still raised daily with military precision and a great deal of ceremony and pomp. But, as my father told me on the ride there, duty at Franner’s Bend was a ‘soft post’ now, a plum given to older or incapacitated officers who did not wish to retire to their family homes yet.
Our sole reason for visiting was to determine if my father would win the military contract for sheepskins to use as saddle padding. My family was just venturing into sheep herding at that time, and he wished to assess the market potential for them before investing too heavily in the silly creatures. Much as he detested playing the merchant, he told me, as a new noble he had to establish the investments that would support his estate and allow it to grow. ‘I’ve no wish to hand your brother an empty title when he comes of age. The future Lord Burvelles of the East must have income to support a noble lifestyle. You may think that has nothing to do with you, young Nevare, since as a second son you will go to be a soldier. But when you are an old man, and your soldiering days are through, you will come home to your brother’s estate to retire. You will live out your days at Widevale, and the income of the estate will determine how well your daughters will marry, for it is the duty of a noble first son to provide for his soldier brother’s daughters. It behooves you to know about these things.’
I understood little, then, of what he was telling me. Of late, he talked to me twice as much as he ever had, and I felt I understood only half as much of what he said. He had only recently parted me from my sisters’ company and their gentle play. I missed them tremendously, as I did my mother’s attentions and coddling. The separation had been abrupt, following my father’s discovery that I spent most of my afternoons playing ‘tea-party’ in the garden with Elisi and Yaril, and had even adopted a doll as my own to bring to the nursery festivities. Such play alarmed my father for reasons my eight-year-old mind could not grasp. He had scolded my mother in a muffled ‘discussion’ behind the closed doors of the parlour, and instantly assumed total responsibility for my upbringing. My schoolbook lessons were suspended, pending the arrival of a new tutor he had hired. In the intervening days he kept me at his side for all sorts of tedious errands and constantly lectured me on what my life would be like when I grew up to be an officer in the King’s Cavalla. If I was not with my father, and sometimes even when I was, Corporal Parth supervised me.
The abrupt change had left me both isolated and unsettled. I sensed I had somehow disappointed my father, but was unsure of what I had done. I longed to return to my sisters’ company. I was also ashamed of missing them, for was I not a young man now and on my path to be my father’s soldier son? So he often reminded me, as did fat old Corporal Parth. Parth was what my mother somewhat irritably called a ‘charity hire’. Old, paunchy, and no longer fit for duty, he had come to ask my father’s aid and been hired as an unskilled groundskeeper. He was now the temporary replacement for the nanny I had shared with my sisters. He was supposed to school me in ‘the basics of military bearing and fitness’ each day until my father could find a more qualified instructor. I did not think much of Parth. Nanny Sisi had been more organized and demanded more discipline of me than he did. The slouching old man who had carried his corporal’s rank into retirement with him regarded me as more of a nuisance and a chore than a bright young mind to be shaped and a body to be built with rigor. Often, when he was supposed to be teaching me riding, he spent an hour napping while I practised ‘being a good little sentry and keeping watch’, which meant that I sat in the branches of a shady tree while he slept beneath it. I had not told my father any of that, of course. One thing that Parth had already instructed me in was that he was the commander and I was the soldier, and a good soldier never questioned his orders.
My father was well known at Franner’s Bend. We rode through the town and up to the gates of the fortress. There he was saluted and welcomed without question. I looked curiously about me as we rode past an idle smith’s shop, a warehouse, and a barracks before we reined in our horses before the commander’s headquarters. I gaped up at the grand stone building, three storeys tall, as my father gave Parth his instructions regarding me.
