Tad Williams' Shadowrise
Thanks again to Deborah Beale’s kindness, here is the second excerpt from Tad Williams‘ upcoming release–Volume 3 in the Shadowmarch series, Shadowrise. The book will be released in March.
In this second installment, we get a look at a snippet of Chapter Six (Broken Teeth):
Barrick had often criticized his sister Briony for her slovenly habits. She let dogs sleep in her bed even on warm nights, dropped her shoes wherever she took them off, and would cradle the muddiest, most disgusting creature in the world to her breast as long as it was a baby — whether puppy, foal, kitten, lamb, or chick. However, despite all the times Briony had driven her more fastidious brother into a rage, his strongest wish now was that he could speak to her again and apologize for saying that she was the most untidy thing that had ever lived…because now he knew better. No creature, not even some blind worm living in the very privies of Kernios, could be more disgusting than the raven Skurn, with his meals of frogspawn and festering mouse carcasses, his verminous, patchy feathers, and his constant smell of blood, rot and ordure.
The big dark bird ate constantly, head bobbing up and down over some horror or other with the infuriating regularity of a waterwheel in a strong current. And Skurn ate anything and everything – bugs out of the air, droppings of other birds off the trees, slugs and snails and anything else too slow to avoid his horny black beak. Nor was he a tidy eater: his breast was always covered with a drying crust of whatever he’d eaten last, often with some bits still faintly twitching. And his other habits were even more dreadful. Skurn was not careful about where he defecated at the best of times, but when he was startled he gave up all discretion: wayward droppings might splash on Barrick’s shoulder or even into his hair.
“But us doesn’t shit on you a-purpose,” Skurn pointed out after one such accident when he was startled by a falling branch. “And as must be said, so far us’s kept you clear of the silkins.”
That at least was true. Since Skurn had returned he had helped Barrick through Silky Wood with little contact from the creatures after whom it was named. A pair of silent stalkers had followed them for a while a few sleeps back, but had come no closer than the lower branches. Perhaps, Barrick thought with a touch of pride, word had spread of how he had dealt with their kin. (More likely, though, he recognized, was that they were simply waiting until more of them had gathered.)
He hadn’t seen a sign of them at all yesterday or today, and had actually managed a few hours of sleep while the raven Skurn played sentry – or claimed he had, anyway: not only was Skurn self-serving, he was old. Once Barrick had actually seen him doze off in midflight, lose control of his wings and crack his head against a tree trunk, spinning to the ground like a clump of black leaves. As he hurried toward him, Barrick had been sure the raven had broken his neck.
Is it a heresy, Barrick couldn’t help wondering, to pray to gods whose existence you are confused about and whose kindness you certainly doubt, begging for the safety of a brute of a bird you do not even like?