Novels by Andrea Kugy

The shadow of the God-Killer stretched across the East District like the hand of a cold, indifferent god. Its sheer size blocked out the flickering orange of the burning city, casting Aerovan and Lysenne into a premature, suffocating twilight."Can you even stand?" Lysenne’s voice was barely a whisper, her hands trembling as she tried to pull Aerovan’s arm over her shoulder. "Aerovan, look at the size of that thing. Your cannon... it took everything you had just to dent a regular one. This isn't a fight. It’s a funeral."Aerovan spat a glob of thick, dark blood onto the shattered cobblestones and forced a grin that looked more like a jagged scar. "Then it’s a good thing I’m already dressed for the occasion. Drovic! Help her. Get me back to the forge.""Kid, the forge is falling apart," Drovic grunted, though he moved quickly, his massive frame providing the literal pillar Aerovan needed to stay upright. "The roof is half-gone and the hearth is barely holding a spark. You’re asking for

The Northern Watch siren didn't just scream; it vibrated through the floorboards, rattling the jars of oil and iron filings on Aerovan’s workbench. The sound was a jagged edge, cutting through the heavy silence of the forge."They're not just raiding," Lysenne whispered, her face losing every drop of color. "That’s the 'Total Breach' signal. The Iron Duchy... they’ve actually done it. They’ve brought the golems."Aerovan gripped the cold, black handle of his hammer, his knuckles looking like knots of bleached wood. "Golems? I thought we were fighting the Abyss.""The Duchy of Oth has been waiting for the Abyss to soften us up," Drovic spat, stumbling back into the room with a ladle full of thin broth he immediately dropped. "Opportunistic vultures! They’ve got Null-Stone golems, Aerovan. Magic doesn't touch 'em. Kael and Veydan... they’re gonna be about as useful as silk umbrellas in a hailstorm."Aerovan coughed, a dry, rattling sound that ended with a fleck of red on his lip. He wip

The hammer didn't fall from Aerovan’s hand so much as his hand simply ceased to be a part of his conscious reality. The heavy iron tool struck the floor with a dull thud, followed immediately by the sound of Aerovan’s knees hitting the soot-covered planks. He didn’t make a sound. He just tipped forward, his forehead resting against the cool, dark base of the anvil."Aerovan!" Lysenne’s voice was a sharp crack in the sudden silence. She was at his side in a second, her hands hovering over his shoulders as if afraid he might shatter if she touched him. "Drovic, help him!""I told him," Drovic groaned, though his voice was thick with a shaky sort of terror. He shoved past the King’s guards, ignoring the leveled spears. "I told the damn kid he was burning the candle at both ends and in the middle too."King Roder stepped forward, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically until he stood over the collapsed smith. He looked down at the white hair, the trembling, skeletal hands, and the glowing p

The trumpets didn't stop. They grew louder, a brassy, rhythmic herald that bounced off the cramped walls of the East District. Aerovan slumped in the chair, his lungs feeling like they were filled with wet sand. He tried to ignore the way his own hands looked—spotted with age, the skin translucent and fragile—but Lysenne’s grip on his arm wouldn't let him."The Guard is here," Drovic whispered, peering through a hole in the door. "And that’s not just a patrol. That’s the Gold-Crest. The King is coming himself.""Of course he is," Aerovan wheezed, a dry cough racking his chest. "Probably wants to sue me for noise complaints.""Aerovan, listen to me," Lysenne said, her voice urgent and low. She was still staring at his aged face, her eyes shimmering with a mix of horror and fascination. "You can’t let him see you like this. He’ll think you’re a spent resource. He’ll treat you like a battery that’s run dry.""I am run dry, Princess. I just did the math. I’ve got more wrinkles than your f

The searchlights continued to sweep the jagged horizon of the quarry, pale fingers of light poking through the rising dust. Drovic didn’t wait for Aerovan to admire his handiwork any longer; he grabbed the younger man by the collar of his soot-stained shirt and yanked him toward the treeline."Move it, kid! If the Knights find you standing over a crater with a smoking metal stick, they won't ask for a demonstration. They'll drop you first and sort the scrap later!"Aerovan stumbled, his boots catching on the uneven rock. "I’m moving, I’m moving! Just—give me a second. My legs feel like they’re made of lead.""That's the 'price' you mentioned, isn't it?" Drovic hissed, guiding him through a narrow thicket of briars. "You look like you've aged a decade in ten minutes. If we don't get you back to the forge and hide that... that thing, you’re going to be a very dead 'legend'.""I can still walk, Drovic. Just... everything is heavy. Even the air.""Yeah, well, keep walking. We stay off the

The white light behind Aerovan’s eyelids slowly faded into a dull, throbbing red. He slumped against the base of the anvil, his lungs burning as if he’d just inhaled a bucket of hot ash."You still breathing, or do I need to call the corpse-wagon?"Aerovan bolted upright, his head spinning. A man stood in the crooked doorway, framed by the moonlight. He was built like a keg of ale, with shoulders that hit both sides of the frame and a beard so thick and soot-stained it looked like a tangled briar patch."Who are you?" Aerovan wheezed, clutching his chest."I’m the guy who lives in the cellar so I don't have to listen to idiots screaming in the middle of the night," the man grunted, stepping into the dim light of the forge. He looked at the anvil, then back at Aerovan. "Name’s Drovic Kain. I used to keep this place running before the King decided blacksmiths weren't 'heroic' enough for his budget. What the hell did you just do?""I... I hit it," Aerovan said, his voice cracking. He loo