Deadhouse Gates: Book Two of the Malazan Book of the Fallen by Steven Erikson (E

Description: Deadhouse Gates by Steven Erikson Set in a brilliantly realized world ravaged by dark, uncontrollable magic, this thrilling novel of war, intrigue and betrayal--the second of a ten-book series--confirms Erikson as a new master of epic fantasy. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description The second novel in the awe-inspiring Malazan Book of the Fallen series. "Gripping, fast-moving, delightfully dark, with a masterful and unapologetic brutality reminiscent of George R. R. Martin." -- Elizabeth Haydon In the vast dominion of Seven Cities, in the Holy Desert Raraku, the seer Shaik and her followers prepare for the long-prophesied uprising known as the Whirlwind. Unprecedented in size and savagery, this maelstrom of fanaticism and bloodlust will embroil the Malazan Empire in one of the bloodiest conflicts it has ever known, shaping destinies and giving birth to legends . . . Set in a brilliantly realized world ravaged by dark, uncontrollable magic, Deadhouse Gates is a novel of war, intrigue and betrayal confirms Steven Eirkson as a storyteller of breathtaking skill, imagination and originality--a new master of epic fantasy. Author Biography Steven Erikson is an archaeologist and anthropologist and a graduate of the Iowa Writers Workshop. His Malazan Book of the Fallen series, including The Crippled God, Dust of Dreams, Toll the Hounds and Reapers Gale, have met with widespread international acclaim and established him as a major voice in the world of fantasy fiction. The first book in the series, Gardens of the Moon, was shortlisted for a World Fantasy Award. Deadhouse Gates was the second novel in the series and was voted one of the ten best fantasy novels of 2000 by SF Site. He lives in Canada. Review "Give me the evocation of a rich, complex and yet ultimately unknowable other world, with a compelling suggestion of intricate history and mythology and lore. Give me mystery amid the grand narrative. Give me a world in which every sea hides a crumbled Atlantis, every ruin has a tale to tell, every mattock blade is a silent legacy of struggles unknown. Give me, in other words, the fantasy work of Steven Erikson. Erikson is a master of lost and forgotten epochs, a weaver of ancient epics on a scale that would approach absurdity if it wasnt so much fun." --Andrew Leonard, Salon.com on The Malazan Book of the Fallen "Steven Erikson afflicts me with awe. Vast in scope, almost frighteningly fecund in imagination, and rich in sympathy, his work does something that only the rarest of books can manage: it alters the readers perceptions of reality." --Stephen R. Donaldson on Deadhouse Gates "I stand slack-jawed in awe of The Malazan Book of the Fallen. This masterwork of imagination may be the high water mark of epic fantasy. This marathon of ambition has a depth and breadth and sense of vast reaches of inimical time unlike anything else available today. The Black Company, Zelaznys Amber, Vances Dying Earth, and other mighty drumbeats are but foreshadowings of this dark dragons hoard." --Glen Cook on The Malazan Book of the Fallen "One of the best fantasy novels of the year." --SF Site on Deadhouse Gates "Rare is the writer who so fluidly combines a sense of mythic power and depth of world, with fully realized characters and thrilling action, but Steven Erikson manages it spectacularly. The books are reminiscent of Tolkeins scope, Zelaznys cleverness and wit, and Donaldsons brooding atmospherics; yet all combined with dazzling talent into a narrative flow that keeps the reader turning pages. Some writers open windows on worlds, Erikson opens worlds and makes them so real, so magical, youre not sure if you can escape-and I dont want to." --Michael A. Stackpole on Deadhouse Gates "Such is the impact of the first book in Eriksons monumental Malazan saga, Gardens of the Moon, that the achievement of this sequel is doubly surprising. Not only is the vigour and sweep of the earlier book effortlessly captured, the complex plot is simultaneously deepened and accelerated, with a grasp of tempo that has the reader inexorably gripped . . . Roll on, book three!" --The Good Book Guide on Deadhouse Gates "Gripping, fast-moving, delightfully dark, with a masterful and unapologetic brutality reminiscent of George R. R. Martin. Steven Erikson brings a punchy, mesmerizing writing style into the genre of epic fantasy, making an indelible impression. Utterly engrossing." --Elizabeth Haydon on Deadhouse Gates Review Quote Vast in scope, almost frighteningly fecund in imagination, and rich in sympathy. Excerpt from Book Chapter One And all came to imprint Their passage On the path, To scent the dry winds Their cloying claim To ascendancy The Path of Hands Messremb 1164th Year of Burns Sleep Tenth Year of the Rule of Empress Laseen The Sixth in the Seven Years of Dryjhna, the Apocalyptic A corkscrew plume of dust raced across the basin, heading deeper into the trackless desert of the Panpotsun Odhan. Though less than two thousand paces away, it seemed a plume born of nothing. From his perch on the mesas wind-scarred edge, Mappo Runt followed it with relentless eyes the colour of sand, eyes set deep in a robustly boned, pallid face. He held a wedge of emrag cactus in his bristle-backed hand, unmindful of the envenomed spikes as he bit into it. Juices dribbled down his chin, staining it blue. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully. Beside him Icarium flicked a pebble over the cliff edge. It clicked and clattered on its way down to the boulder-strewn base. Under the ragged Spiritwalker robe---its orange faded to dusty rust beneath the endless sun---his grey skin had darkened into olive green, as if his fathers blood had answered this wastelands ancient call. His long, braided black hair dripped black sweat onto the bleached rock. Mappo pulled a mangled thorn from between his front teeth. Your dyes running, he observed, eyeing the cactus blade a moment before taking another bite. Icarium shrugged. Doesnt matter any more. Not out here. My blind grandmother wouldnt have swallowed your disguise. There were narrow eyes on us in Ehrlitan. I felt them crawling on my back day and night. Tannos are mostly short and bow-legged, after all. Mappo pulled his gaze away from the dust cloud and studied his friend. Next time, he grunted, try belonging to a tribe where everyones seven foot tall. Icariums lined, weather-worn face twitched into something like a smile, just a hint, before resuming its placid expression. Those who would know of us in Seven Cities, surely know of us now. Those who would not might wonder at us, but that is all they will do. Squinting against the glare, he nodded at the plume. What do you see, Mappo? Flat head, long neck, black and hairy all over. If just that, I might be describing one of my uncles. But theres more. One leg up front and two in back. Icarium tapped the bridge of his nose, thinking. So, not one of your uncles. An aptorian? Mappo slowly nodded. The convergence is months away. Id guess Shadowthrone caught a whiff of whats coming, sent out a few scouts... And this one? Mappo grinned, exposing massive canines. A tad too far afield. Shaiks pet now. He finished off the cactus, wiped his spatulate hands, then rose from his crouch. Arching his back, he winced. There had been, unaccountably, a mass of roots beneath the sand under his bedroll the night just past, and now the muscles to either side of his spine matched every knot and twist of those treeless bones. He rubbed at his eyes. A quick scan down the length of his body displayed for him the tattered, dirt-crusted state of his clothes. He sighed. Its said theres a waterhole out there, somewhere--- With Shaiks army camped around it. Mappo grunted. Icarium also straightened, noting once again the sheer mass of his companion---big even for a Trell---the shoulders broad and maned in black hair, the sinewy muscles of his long arms, and the thousand years that capered like a gleeful goat behind Mappos eyes. Can you track it? If you like. Icarium grimaced. How long have we known each other, friend? Mappos glance was sharp, then he shrugged. Long. Why do you ask? I know reluctance when I hear it. The prospect disturbs you? Any potential brush with demons disturbs me, Icarium. Shy as a hare is Mappo Trell. I am driven by curiosity. I know. The unlikely pair turned back to their small campsite, tucked between two towering spires of wind-sculpted rock. There was no hurry. Icarium sat down on a flat rock and proceeded to oil his longbow, striving to keep the hornwood from drying out. Once satisfied with the weapons condition, he turned to his single-edged long sword, sliding the ancient weapon from its bronze-banded boiled-leather scabbard, then setting an oiled whetstone to its notched edge. Mappo struck the hide tent, folding it haphazardly before stuffing it into his large leather bag. Cooking utensils followed, as did the bedding. He tied the drawstrings and hefted the bag over one shoulder, then glanced to where Icarium waited---bow rewrapped and slung across his back. Icarium nodded, and the two of them, half-blood Jaghut and full-blood Trell, began on the path leading down into the basin. Overhead the stars hung radiant, casting enough light down onto the basin to tinge its cracked pan silver. The bloodflies had passed with the vanishing of the days heat, leaving the night to the occasional swarm of capemoths and the batlike rhizan lizards that fed on them. Mappo and Icarium paused for a rest in the courtyard of some ruins. The mudbrick walls had all but eroded away, leaving nothing but shin-high ridges laid out in a geometric pattern around an old, dried-up well. The sand covering the courtyards tiles was fine and windblown and seemed to glow faintly to Mappos eyes. Twisted brush clung with fisted roots along its edges. The Panpotsun Odhan and the Holy Desert Raraku that flanked it to the west were both home to countless such remnants from long-dead civilizations. In their travels Mappo and Icarium had found high tels---flat-topped hills built up of layer upon layer of city---situated in a rough procession over a distance of fifty leagues between the hills and the desert, clear evidence that a rich and thriving people had once lived in what was now dry, wind-blasted wasteland. From the Holy Desert had emerged the legend of Dryjhna the Apocalyptic. Mappo wondered if the calamity that had befallen the city-dwellers in this region had in some way contributed to the myth of a time of devastation and death. Apart from the occasional abandoned estate such as the one they now rested in, many ruins showed signs of a violent end. His thoughts finding familiar ruts, Mappo grimaced. Not all pasts can be laid at our feet, and we are no closer here and now than weve ever been. Nor have I any reason to disbelieve my own words. He turned away from those thoughts as well. Near the courtyards centre stood a single column of pink marble, pitted and grooved on one side where the winds born out in Raraku blew unceasingly towards the Panpotsun Hills. The pillars opposite side still retained the spiral patterning carved there by long-dead artisans. Upon entering the courtyard Icarium had walked directly to the six-foot-high column, examining its sides. His grunt told Mappo hed found what he had been looking for. And this one? the Trell asked, setting his leather sack down. Icarium came over, wiping dust from his hands. Down near the base, a scattering of tiny clawed hands---the seekers are on the Trail. Rats? More than one set? Divers, Icarium agreed, nodding. Now who might that be, I wonder? Probably Gryllen. Mhm, unpleasant. Icarium studied the flat plain stretching into the west. There will be others. Soletaken and Divers both. Those who feel near to Ascendancy, and those who are not, yet seek the Path nonetheless. Mappo sighed, studying his old friend. Faint dread stirred within him. Divers and Soletaken, the twin curses of shapeshifting, the fever for which there is no cure. Gathering...here, in this place. Is this wise, Icarium? he asked softly. In seeking your eternal goal, we find ourselves walking into a most disagreeable convergence. Should the gates open, we shall find our passage contested by a host of blood-thirsty individuals all eager in their belief that the gates offer Ascendancy. If such a pathway exists, Icarium said, his eyes still on the horizon, then perhaps I shall find my answers there as well. Answers are no benediction, friend. Trust me in this. Please. You have still not explained to me what you will do once you have found them. Icarium turned to him with a faint smile. I am my own curse, Mappo. I have lived centuries, yet what do I know of my own past? Where are my memories? How can I judge my own life without such knowledge? Some would consider your curse a gift, Mappo said, a flicker of sadness passing across his features. I do not. I view this convergence as an opportunity. It might well provide me with answers. To achieve them, I hope to avoid drawing my weapons, but I shall if I must. The Trell sighed a second time and rose from his crouch. You may be tested in that resolve soon, friend. He faced southwest. There are six desert wolves on our trail. Icarium unwrapped his antlered bow and strung it in a swift, fluid motion. Desert wolves never hunt people. No, Mappo agreed. It was another hour before the moon would rise. He watched Icarium lay out six long, stone-tipped arrows, then squinted out into the darkness. Cold fear crept along the nape of his neck. The wolves were not yet visible, but Details ISBN0765348799 Short Title MALAZAN BK02 DEADHOUSE GATES Language English ISBN-10 0765348799 ISBN-13 9780765348791 Media Book DEWEY 813.54 Series Number 02 Audience Age 14-18 Residence -CN Imprint Tor Books DOI 10.1604/9780765348791 Subtitle Book Two of the Malazan Book of the Fallen Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2006-02-07 NZ Release Date 2006-02-07 UK Release Date 2006-02-07 Pages 864 Publisher St Martins Press Series Malazan Book of the Fallen Format Paperback Audience Teenage / Young adult Year 2006 Publication Date 2006-02-07 US Release Date 2006-02-07 Author Steven Erikson We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:8807793;

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