We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Blood of the Old Kings, an epic fantasy novel by South Korean author Sung-il Kim (translated by Anton Hur), out from Tor Books on October 8.
In an Empire run on necromancy, dead sorcerers are the lifeblood. Their corpses are wrapped in chains and drained of magic to feed the unquenchable hunger for imperial conquest.
Born with magic, Arienne has become resigned to her dark fate. But when the voice of a long-dead sorcerer begins to speak inside her head, she listens. There may be another future for her, if she’s willing to fight for it.
Miles away, beneath a volcano, a seven-eyed dragon also wears the Empire’s chains. Before the imperial fist closed around their lands, it was the people’s sacred guardian.
Loran, a widowed swordswoman, is the first to kneel before the dragon in decades. She comes with a desperate plea, and will leave with a sword of dragon-fang in hand and a great purpose before her.
In the heart of the Imperial capital, Cain is known as a man who gets things done. When his best friend and mentor is found murdered, he will leave no stone unturned to find those responsible, even if it means starting a war.
CAIN
Cain had just stepped into the alley that would take him home when the blue light of the streetlamp behind him blinked once before going out completely. A gust of winter cold rustled his old tan coat. The ghost-like shadows that haunted the buildings melted into the dark, and now the only light came from a smattering of candles in the windows above the alley.
The Power generator in this run-down part of the Imperial Capital was low-grade, and old at that, so simply covering the fuses with a thin lead panel could disrupt the lamps for a while. A method commonly used by muggers, but no mugger or thief in this vicinity would dare make a mark of Cain.
Someone must want to talk to him. Perhaps it had something to do with Fienna. Maybe it was going to be violent. Cain pinched a leg of his spectacles but decided against stashing them in their steel case. Whatever was going to happen, he couldn’t afford to miss any details.
In the alley ahead, a man appeared, his face hidden by the hood of a black cloak. Another person materialized from the shadows at Cain’s right, from the main street he’d just turned off of, and he could hear muffled footsteps farther down the alley from approaching figures he couldn’t yet see.
Cain had a concealed dagger in the inner pocket of his coat, his hand unconsciously creeping toward it, but he paused—he could make out at least five shrouded figures blocking his exit from all angles now. This was not a situation he could get out of by force.
“Cain?” an unfamiliar voice asked. “Cain, of the oil shop?”
Buy the Book
Blood of the Old Kings
Cain turned to face the speaker. A tall woman with short hair stood at the entrance of the alley. No weapons were visible on her person, but the iron in her voice and stance made it clear she’d once served in the legions. And like any ex-legionary, she was bound to be carrying at least one weapon, or to even be wearing armor under her coat.
Cain delayed answering as he glanced at the walls of the alley, noting how smooth they were despite their grime, with nary a handhold to aid his escape. He turned his head back down the alley where a man had come to a stop just six or seven steps away, face still in shadow. Not even his nose or mouth was discernible by the light of the stars and the weak candlelight.
“And who wishes to know?” Cain finally answered, wondering if talking could buy him the time he would need.
“You’ve been asking after that woman all day.” This was spoken by the man nearest to him in the alley, behind whom now stood two more hooded figures.
“What woman?”
Cain knew perfectly well the answer to this question—he’d spent hours inquiring after Fienna, inquiring about her death. And he’d realized, from the moment the streetlamp had blinked off, why these people were after him. He needed time.
He made as if to backtrack but heard quick footsteps behind him. Five of them, including the ex-legionary, just as he had suspected. No way to fight his way out and no escape.
“The woman pulled from the river today, the one named Fienna.”
How polite of them to keep the conversation going. Their accents were not of the Imperial Capital but oddly similar to Arland’s. Ledon? Kamori? Eshen? Cain’s mind went down the list of provinces and the accents he knew from each of them.
“What river?”
“Is there any other river near but the Apathos? There’s no use feigning ignorance.”
The extended hiss in the s of Apathos betrayed their Kamori origins. Cain was from their neighboring country of Arland, and Fienna had also been an Arlander. It mattered to the people who moved to the Capital which province they came from. Not that anyone in power here could find Arland or Kamori on a map of the Empire.
“I have no idea who that is. I just sell olive oil.” This time, Cain let his voice tremble as if he were afraid.
“You went to the dye shop where she worked and asked all sorts of questions about her. We know you’re also the one who went to the patrollers.”
Cain had been to ten places today, but these were the only two the man mentioned. Did that mean something?
“I was asking after the new awning at the dye shop. And reporting a thief to the patrollers.”
“Lies. We know you examined the body at the patrollers’ station.”
The man didn’t note the three cobblers Cain had also visited, because of the new stitching he’d seen on Fienna’s shoes. If they didn’t know that, they hadn’t been following him all day.
Cain made a mental note to return to the dye shop and the patrollers if he survived this encounter. Come to think of it, Fienna had once told him the dye shop owner had regularly accompanied a great merchant, one with a monopoly license, to both Kamori and Arland, before she had her own shop. That might have something to do with all of this.
Fienna had not shown up at the tea shop, their usual meeting place, the night before. And this morning, her body had been fished out of the river by a ferryman’s pole.
When they’d last spoken, Fienna had said there was something important she needed to tell him. Everything seemed important to Fienna—it was just one of many things he loved about his friend—but this time, instead of the usual excitement in her voice whenever she related news from their homeland, her tone had been one of fear. Whatever she had wanted to speak with him about, Cain thought, it had led to her death. He had to find out what it was.
Excerpted from Blood of the Old Kings, copyright © 2024 by Sung-il Kim.
