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The Will of the Many (Volume 1) (Hierarchy, Band 1) - Hardcover

Buch 1 von 2: Hierarchy

Islington, James

 
9781982141172: The Will of the Many (Volume 1) (Hierarchy, Band 1)
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1982141174 ISBN 13: 9781982141172
Verlag: S&S/Saga Press, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

Featuring a reversible book cover with the original hardcover art design.

At the elite Catenan Academy, a young fugitive uncovers layered mysteries and world-changing secrets in this new fantasy series by internationally bestselling author of The Licanius Trilogy, James Islington.

AUDI. VIDE. TACE.

The Catenan Republic—the Hierarchy—may rule the world now, but they do not know everything.

I tell them my name is Vis Telimus. I tell them I was orphaned after a tragic accident three years ago, and that good fortune alone has led to my acceptance into their most prestigious school. I tell them that once I graduate, I will gladly join the rest of civilised society in allowing my strength, my drive and my focus—what they call Will—to be leeched away and added to the power of those above me, as millions already do. As all must eventually do.

I tell them that I belong, and they believe me.

But the truth is that I have been sent to the Academy to find answers. To solve a murder. To search for an ancient weapon. To uncover secrets that may tear the Republic apart.

And that I will never, ever cede my Will to the empire that executed my family.

To survive, though, I will still have to rise through the Academy’s ranks. I will have to smile, and make friends, and pretend to be one of them and win. Because if I cannot, then those who want to control me, who know my real name, will no longer have any use for me.

And if the Hierarchy finds out who I truly am, they will kill me.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

James Islington is the bestselling author of The Will of the Many (the first novel in the Hierarchy series), as well as the Licanius Trilogy (beginning with The Shadow of What Was Lost). He has sold more than two million books, and his work has been translated into seventeen different languages. He lives on the Mornington Peninsula in Victoria, Australia, with his wife and two children.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

Featuring a reversible book cover with the original hardcover art design.

At the elite Catenan Academy, a young fugitive uncovers layered mysteries and world-changing secrets in this new fantasy series by internationally bestselling author of The Licanius Trilogy, James Islington.

AUDI. VIDE. TACE.

The Catenan Republic―the Hierarchy―may rule the world now, but they do not know everything.

I tell them my name is Vis Telimus. I tell them I was orphaned after a tragic accident three years ago, and that good fortune alone has led to my acceptance into their most prestigious school. I tell them that once I graduate, I will gladly join the rest of civilised society in allowing my strength, my drive and my focus―what they call Will―to be leeched away and added to the power of those above me, as millions already do. As all must eventually do.

I tell them that I belong, and they believe me.

But the truth is that I have been sent to the Academy to find answers. To solve a murder. To search for an ancient weapon. To uncover secrets that may tear the Republic apart.

And that I will never, ever cede my Will to the empire that executed my family.

To survive, though, I will still have to rise through the Academy’s ranks. I will have to smile, and make friends, and pretend to be one of them and win. Because if I cannot, then those who want to control me, who know my real name, will no longer have any use for me.

And if the Hierarchy finds out who I truly am, they will kill me.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter I I
I AM DANGLING, AND IT is only my father’s blood-slicked grip around my wrist that stops me from falling.

He is on his stomach, stretched out over the rocky ledge. His muscles are corded. Sticky red covers his face, his arms, his clothes, everything I can see. Yet I know he can pull me up. I do everything I can not to struggle. I trust him to save me.

He looks over my shoulder. Into the inky black. Into the darkness that is to come.

“Courage,” he whispers. He pours heartbreak and hope into the word.

He lets go.

“I KNOW I’M ALWAYS TELLING you to think before you act,” says the craggy-faced man slouching across the board from me, “but for the game to progress, Vis, you do actually have to move a gods-damned stone.”

I rip my preoccupied gaze from the cold silver that’s streaming through the sole barred window in the guardroom. Give my opponent my best irritated glare to cover the sickly swell of memory, then force my focus again to the polished white and red triangles between us. The pieces glint dully in the light of the low-burning lantern that sits on the shelf, barely illuminating our contest better than the early evening’s glow from outside.

“You alright?”

“Fine.” I see Hrolf’s bushy grey eyebrows twitch in the corner of my vision. “I’m fine, old man. Just thinking. Sappers haven’t got me yet.” No heat to the words. I know the way his faded brown eyes crinkle with concern is genuine. And I know he has to ask.

I’ve been working here almost a year longer than him, so he’s wondering again whether my mind is losing its edge. Like his has been for a while, now.

I ignore his worry and assess the Foundation board, calculating what the new red formation on the far side means. A feint, I realise immediately. I ignore it. Shift three of my white pieces in quick succession and ensure the win. Hrolf likes to boast about how he once defeated a Magnus Quartus, but against me, it’s never a fair match. Even before the Hierarchy—or the Catenan Republic, as I still have to remind myself to call them out loud—ruled the world, Foundation was widely considered the perfect tool for teaching abstract strategic thinking. My father ensured I was exposed to it young, often, and against the very best players.

Hrolf glowers at the board, then me, then at the board again.

“Lost concentration. You took too long. Basically cheating,” he mutters, disgusted as he concedes the game. “You know I beat a Magnus Quartus once?”

My reply is interrupted by a hammering at the thick stone entrance. Hrolf and I stand, game forgotten. Our shift isn’t meant to change for hours yet.

“Identify yourself,” calls Hrolf sharply as I step across to the window. The man visible through the bars is well-dressed, tall and with broad shoulders. In his late twenties, I think. Moonlight shines off the dark skin of his close-shaven scalp.

“Sextus Hospius,” comes the muffled reply. “I have an access seal.” Hospius looks at the window, spotting my observation of him. His beard is black, trimmed short, and he has serious, dark brown eyes that lend him a handsome intensity. He leans over and presses what appear to be official Hierarchy documents against the glass.

“We weren’t told to expect you,” says Hrolf.

“I wouldn’t have known to expect me until about thirty minutes ago. It’s urgent.”

“Not how it works.”

“It is tonight, Septimus.” No change in expression, but the impatient emphasis on Hrolf’s lower status is unmistakeable.

Hrolf squints at the door, then walks over to the thin slot set in the wall beside it, tapping his stone Will key to it with an irritated, sharp click. The hole on our side seals shut. Outside, Hospius notes the corresponding new opening in front of him, depositing his documentation. I watch closely to ensure he adds nothing else.

Hrolf waits for my nod, then opens our end again to pull out Hospius’s pages, rifling through them. His mouth twists as he hands them to me. “Proconsul’s seal” is all he says.

I examine the writing carefully; Hrolf knows his work, but here among the Sappers it pays to check things twice. Sure enough, though, there’s full authorization for entry from Proconsul Manius himself, signed and stamped. Hospius is a man of some importance, apparently, even beyond his rank: he’s a specialised agent, assigned directly by the Senate to investigate an irregularity in last year’s census. Cooperation between the senatorial pyramids of Governance—Hospius’s employers, who oversee the Census—and Military, who are in charge of prisons across the Republic, is allowing Hospius access to one of the prisoners here for questioning.

“Looks valid,” I agree, understanding Hrolf’s displeasure. This paperwork allows our visitor access to the lowest level. It’s cruel to wake the men and women down there mid-sentence.

Hrolf takes the page with Manius’s seal on it back from me and slides it into the outer door’s thin release slot. The proconsul’s Will-imbued seal breaks the security circuit just as effectively as Hrolf’s key, and the stone door grinds smoothly into the wall, a gust of Letens’s bitter night air slithering through the opening to herald Hospius’s imposing form. Inside, the man sheds his fine blue cloak and tosses it casually over the back of a nearby chair, flashing what he probably imagines is a charming smile at the two of us. Hrolf sees a man taking liberties with his space, and curbs a scowl as he snaps Hospius’s seal with more vigour than is strictly necessary, releasing its Will and letting the door glide shut again.

I see a man trying too hard to look at ease, and do everything I can not to react.

Probably nothing. As much as I try to convince myself, after three years, I’m adept at recognising other actors.

Our visitor is nervous about something.

“Thank you, Septimus.” Hospius’s gaze sweeps over me, registering my youth and dismissing my presence, focusing instead on Hrolf. “I know this is irregular, but I need information from someone. A man named Nateo.”

Hrolf pulls the jail ledger from atop the shelf in the corner, flipping it open. There are a few seconds of him tracing down the paper with his finger. “Nateo, Nateo… here he is. Deep cells, east forty-one. Vis, you wait here.”

He grabs a key off the hook and takes three steps toward the jail’s inner door—just a regular lock on this one—but on his fourth, he stumbles. And when he rights himself, he peers around at me and Hospius with lost uncertainty. The expression’s gone in an instant, but I know what it means.

“My apologies, Septimus. I forgot about your bad knee,” I lie quickly, striding over and snatching the key from his hand before he can protest. “It will be faster if I escort the Sextus. Deep cells, east forty-one, you said?”

Hrolf glares at me, but I see his gratitude in the look. He knows what’s happened, but probably doesn’t even remember who Hospius is.

“My knee could use the rest,” he plays along. “If the Sextus has no objections.”

“None.” Hospius waves me on impatiently. I don’t think he’s seen anything amiss.

We enter the jail proper and I lock the door again behind us, hiding a vaguely dismayed-looking Hrolf from view. A lantern...

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Verlag
S&S/Saga Press
Erscheinungsdatum
2023
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1982141174
ISBN 13 
9781982141172
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Auflage
1
Anzahl der Seiten
640
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Buchpark GmbH
gpsr@buchpark.de

Krügerweg 1
Trebbin
Brandenburg
14959
Deutschland