“I liked you better the other way,” I said. “So did Justine. Maybe that should tell you something.”
“I’ve got to go. She’s afraid you’ll think I’m all brainwashed. Didn’t want to risk you trying to deprogram me when I haven’t been programmed.”
“I confess. The idea occurred to me.”
“If someone had gotten into my head, I don’t think there’d be so many doubts,” he said. “This isn’t something you can help me with, Harry.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. Either way, you’re still my brother.”
“Broken damn record,” he said.
I held up a fist.
He stared at it for a couple of silent beats before he made a fist of his own and rapped my knuckles against his.
“Don’t call me,” he said.
“I’ll be patient,” I said. “But not forever.”
He hesitated and then nodded once more. Then he thrust his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans and walked quickly away. The bodyguards fell in behind him. One of them said something while he had one hand pressed against his ear.
Purely from petty malice, I waved a hand and hexed his radio, or phone. Sparks flew out of his ear and he all but fell over trying to get the earbud out.
Thomas looked back.
He grinned. Not long but real.
After he was gone, I turned to regard the tigers. I wondered if I knew them for what they really were, or if all I could see were the stripes.
I’d missed Kirby’s funeral while I was in the infirmary in Edinburgh. A couple of weeks had gone by after that, and I’d talked to Will and Georgia by phone occasionally.
Gaming night came along, and as I had most weeks for the past several years, I showed up at Will and Georgia’s place. I had my Arcanos rule book with me, and a Crown Royal bag filled with dice. I was wearing a black T-shirt that had a monochrome image of several multisided dice and said, in block print, “COME TO THE DORK SIDE. DO NOT MAKE ME DESTROY YOU.”
Will answered the door and smiled at me. “Hey, Harry. Wow, your face is . . . manly.”
“Chicks dig scars,” I said.
“Who is it?” came Andi’s voice. It sounded limp, lifeless.
“It is I, Harry Dresden,” I said solemnly.
Georgia appeared behind Will, smiling. “Harry.” She looked at my shirt, and my gaming stuff. “Oh . . . we weren’t really going to . . .”
Kirby had been the one who ran the game for us.
I stepped aside, grabbed the geek standing behind me, and tugged him forward. “This is Waldo Butters,” I said. “And his geek penis is longer and harder than all of ours put together.”
Butters blinked, first at Georgia and Will, and then at me. “Oh,” he said. “Um. Thank you?”
Will looked from Butters to me, his eyes searching. “What is this?” he asked gently.
“Life,” I said. “It keeps going. Butters says he can handle an Arcanos game. Or he can run a bunch of other ones if we want to try something new.” I cleared my throat. “If you like, we can go over to my place. Change of view and so on.”
Georgia looked at me and gave me a small and grateful smile.
Will looked at me uncertainly. Then he turned back into the apartment. “Andi?”
She appeared beside Georgia. Andi looked absolutely withered. Multiple broken ribs and major surgery will do that to you. She was on her feet and moving, but it was clear that she’d been staying with Will and Georgia so that they could help care for her until she recovered.
I smiled at Andi and said, “I don’t think Kirby would want us to stop playing completely. What do you think? I mean it won’t be the same game, but it might be fun.”
She looked at me and then at Butters. Then she gave me a little smile and nodded.
Will swung the door open wide, and we went inside, where I introduced Butters to everyone and produced several bottles of Mac’s best ale.
See, here’s the thing. Morgan was right: you can’t win them all.
But that doesn’t mean that you give up. Not ever. Morgan never said that part—he was too busy living it.
I closed the door behind me, while life went on.
Author’s Note
When I was seven years old, I got a bad case of strep throat and was out of school for a whole week. During that time, my sisters bought me my first fantasy and sci-fi novels: the boxed set of Lord of the Rings and the boxed set of Han Solo adventure novels by Brian Daley. I devoured them all during that week.
From that point on, I was pretty much doomed to join SF&F fandom. From there, it was only one more step to decide I wanted to be a writer of my favorite fiction material, and here we are.
I blame my sisters.
My first love as a fan is swords-and-horses fantasy. After Tolkien I went after C. S. Lewis. After Lewis, it was Lloyd Alexander. After them came Fritz Leiber, Roger Zelazny, Robert Howard, John Norman, Poul Anderson, David Eddings, Weis and Hickman, Terry Brooks, Elizabeth Moon, Glen Cook, and before I knew it, I was a dual citizen of the United States and Lankhmar, Narnia, Gor, Cimmeria, Krynn, Amber—you get the picture.
When I set out to become a writer, I spent years writing swords-and-horses fantasy novels—and seemed to have little innate talent for it. But I worked at my writing, branching out into other areas as experiments, including SF, mystery, and contemporary fantasy. That’s how the Dresden Files initially came about—as a happy accident while trying to accomplish something else. Sort of like penicillin.
But I never forgot my first love, and to my immense delight and excitement, one day I got a call from my agent and found out that I was going to get to share my newest swords-and-horses fantasy novel with other fans.
The Codex Alera is a fantasy series set within the savage world of Carna, where spirits of the elements, known as furies, lurk in ever facet of life, and where many intelligent races vie for security and survival. The realm of Alera is the monolithic civilization of humanity, and its unique ability to harness and command the furies is all that enables its survival in the face of the enormous sometimes hostile elemental powers of Carna, and against savage creatures who would lay Alera in waste and ruin.
Yet even a realm as powerful as Alera is not immune to destruction from within, and the death of the heir apparent to the Crown has triggered a frenzy of ambitious political maneuvering and infighting amongst the High Lords, those who wield the most powerful furies known to man. Plots are afoot, traitors and spies abound, and a civil war seems inevitable—all while the enemies of the realm watch, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.
Tavi is a young man living on the frontier of Aleran civilization—because let’s face it, swords-and-horses fantasies start there. Born a freak, unable to utilize any powers of furycrafting whatsoever, Tavi has grown up relying up on his own wits, speed, and courage to survive. When an ambitious plot to discredit the Crown lays Tavi’s home, the Calderon Valley, naked and defenseless before a horde of the barbarian Marat, the boy and his family find themselves directly in harm’s way.
There are no titanic High Lords to protect them, no Legions, no Knights with their mighty furies to take the field. Tavi and the free frontiersmen of the Calderon Valley must find some way to uncover the plot and to defend their homes against merciless horde of the Marat and their beasts.
It is a desperate hour, when the fate of all Alera hangs in the balance, when a handful of ordinary steadholders must find the courage and strength to defy an overwhelming foe, and when the courage and intelligence of one young man will save the Realm—or destroy it.
Thank you, readers and fellow fans, for all of your support and kindness. I hope that you enjoy reading the books of the Codex Alera as much as I enjoyed creating them for you.
—Jim