Half a king

Review by Booklist Review

Yarvi succeeds to the throne of Gettland when his father and elder brother are killed. But Yarvi is a reluctant king. Because of a deformed hand, he has always felt an inadequate son to his father and now an inadequate king. He is engaged to his cousin, but his uncle is not interested in having a weakling for a son-in-law nor half a king for the country. The uncle's coup topples Yarvi from the throne, but Yarvi escapes with his life. Yarvi's escape leads, however, only to enslavement by people from neighboring Vansterland. Out from this situation emerges a long and arduous quest as Yarvi swears to avenge his father's and brother's deaths and dislodge his uncle from the throne. In the process, Yarvi attains a new maturity, the most important component of which is a newfound confidence. Defeat of his uncle does not mean that Yarvi steps up and occupies the throne again. Instead, he wisely effects an alternative scenario. The world building here is complete and convincing, and the characters are arresting in their all-too-human nature.--Hooper, Brad Copyright 2014 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

---

Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In this superb fantasy trilogy kickoff, Abercrombie (the First Law trilogy) regales readers with the tale of a young man who is thrust onto the throne by unexpected betrayal. Yarvi, the king's second son, is not destined for the Black Chair or kingship of Gettland: he has a withered left hand, and is bound to become a minister. But everything changes when his brother and father are murdered. Yarvi is clever and knowledgeable, thanks to the years he spent studying for the ministry, but none of that will amount to much unless he can survive the sheer cruelty of being raised to the crown, nearly murdered, and traded into slavery in the span of days. The one thing he knows is that he plans to live long enough to take revenge on his father's killer-when he finds out who it was. Abercrombie's stellar prose style and clever plot twists will be sure to please both adult and teen readers. Agent: Robert Kirby, United Agents. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

---

Review by Library Journal Review

Starred Review. Prince Yarvi's deformed hand makes him a weakling in the eyes of his family and of his warrior culture; he wants nothing more than to become a scholar and avoid inheriting power. When he unexpectedly gains the throne and then just as suddenly loses it, Yarvi swears an oath of vengeance against his betrayers and sets out to reclaim the crown he never wanted. Abercrombie (Red Country) entertains and surprises with plot twists right up to the final pages as Yarvi's journey back home takes him through captivity and privation with a mismatched group of wanderers. The outcasts must learn to trust one another if they're going to survive to the end of the road. Reader John Keating provides voices and accents to give the cast of characters and the roster of warring nations their own identities and does a fine job with the grim (though sometimes humorous) tone of the novel. VERDICT Recommended for readers who tire of sprawling multivolume fantasy epics and detailed worldbuilding, who hunger for a tight, fast-paced adventure story full of betrayals, reversals, and bloodied blades. ["A vivid cast of characters and plenty of action and high adventure," read the review of the Del Rey: Ballantine hc, LJ 5/15/14.]-Jason Puckett, Georgia State Univ. Lib, Atlanta (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

---

Review by Kirkus Book Review

A new fantasy series kicks off with a coming-of-age yarn, from the popular author ofRed Country(2012, etc.).Among the royalty of Gettland, only strong, fearless, cold-eyed warriors have value. So Prince Yarvi, born with a withered hand, had only one option: to train as a minister (counselor). After years studying under Mother Gundringluckily, hes a more-than-capable apprenticeYarvi is ready to take the ministrys test when news arrives that his father and elder brother have been treacherously murdered by neighboring rival King Grom-gil-Gorm. While Yarvis uncle Odem offers sad encouragement, his mother, Laithlin, master of the treasury and expert business negotiator, remains her usual supercilious self. With no alternative, Yarvi must take the Black Chair and swear an oath to avenge his fathers death. So, donning unfamiliar armor and carrying weapons he can barely lift, he leads a raid against Grom-gil-Gormonly to be betrayed by those around him. Rather than accept death meekly, he leaps into the Shattered Sea. He survives, only to be captured and sold as a galley slave. Again, he must endure cruelty, enormous hardship and tests of his mettle. Somehow he must use his wits and knowledge to escape enslavement, avenge his father and regain the throne he never expected or wanted. There will be, of course, surprises along the way. To fantasy regulars, this backdrop will sound familiar, with the few embellishments (some elf-ruins and artifacts, an ancient war of the gods) largely irrelevant. The story is well-handled, the characters have personalities, and the plot moves briskly and plausibly, but nothing stands out or grabs the attention; it's somewhat reminiscent of Dave Duncan but without the originality and swagger.Well-dressed, sure, but underneath, its the same old, same old. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

---

The Greater Good There was a harsh gale blowing on the night Yarvi learned he was a king. Or half a king, at least. A seeking wind, the Gettlanders called it, for it found out every chink and keyhole, moaning Mother Sea's dead chill into every dwelling, no matter how high the fires were banked or how close the folk were huddled. It tore at the shutters in the narrow windows of Mother Gundring's chambers and rattled even the iron--bound door in its frame. It taunted the flames in the firepit and they spat and crackled in their anger, casting clawing shadows from the dried herbs hanging, throwing flickering light upon the root that Mother Gundring held up in her knobbled fingers. "And this?" It looked like nothing so much as a clod of dirt, but Yarvi had learned better. "Black--tongue root." "And why might a minister reach for it, my prince?" "A minister hopes they won't have to. Boiled in water it can't be seen or tasted, but is a most deadly poison." Mother Gundring tossed the root aside. "Ministers must sometimes reach for dark things." "Ministers must find the lesser evil," said Yarvi. "And weigh the greater good. Five right from five." Mother Gundring gave a single approving nod and Yarvi flushed with pride. The approval of Gettland's minister was not easily won. "And the riddles on the test will be easier." "The test." Yarvi rubbed nervously at the crooked palm of his bad hand with the thumb of his good. "You will pass." "You can't be sure." "It is a minister's place always to doubt---" "But always to seem certain," he finished for her. "See? I know you." That was true. No one knew him better, even in his own family. Especially in his own family. "I have never had a sharper pupil. You will pass at the first asking." "And I'll be Prince Yarvi no more." All he felt at that thought was relief. "I'll have no family and no birthright." "You will be Brother Yarvi, and your family will be the Ministry." The firelight found the creases about Mother Gundring's eyes as she smiled. "Your birthright will be the plants and the books and the soft word spoken. You will remember and advise, heal and speak truth, know the secret ways and smooth the path for Father Peace in every tongue. As I have tried to do. There is no nobler work, whatever nonsense the muscle--smothered fools spout in the training square." "The muscle--smothered fools are harder to ignore when you're in the square with them." "Huh." She curled her tongue and spat into the fire. "Once you pass the test you only need go there to tend a broken head when the play gets too rough. One day you will carry my staff." She nodded toward the tapering length of studded and slotted elf--metal which leaned against the wall. "One day you will sit beside the Black Chair, and be Father Yarvi." "Father Yarvi." He squirmed on his stool at that thought. "I lack the wisdom." He meant he lacked the courage, but lacked the courage to admit it. "Wisdom can be learned, my prince." He held his left hand, such as it was, up to the light. "And hands? Can you teach those?" "You may lack a hand, but the gods have given you rarer gifts." He snorted. "My fine singing voice, you mean?" "Why not? And a quick mind, and empathy, and strength. Only the kind of strength that makes a great minister, rather than a great king. You have been touched by Father Peace, Yarvi. Always remember: strong men are many, wise men are few." "No doubt why women make better ministers." "And better tea, in general." Gundring slurped from the cup he brought her every evening, and nodded approval again. "But the making of tea is another of your mighty talents." "Hero's work indeed. Will you give me less flattery when I've turned from prince into minister?" "You will get such flattery as you deserve, and my foot in your arse the rest of the time." Yarvi sighed. "Some things never change." "Now to history." Mother Gundring slid one of the books from its shelf, stones set into the gilded spine winking red and green. "Now? I have to be up with Mother Sun to feed your doves. I was hoping to get some sleep before---" "I'll let you sleep when you've passed the test." "No you won't." "You're right, I won't." She licked one finger, ancient paper crackling as she turned the pages. "Tell me, my prince, into how many splinters did the elves break God?" "Four hundred and nine. The four hundred Small Gods, the six Tall Gods, the first man and woman, and Death, who guards the Last Door. But isn't this more the business of a prayer--weaver than a minister?" Mother Gundring clicked her tongue. "All knowledge is the business of the minister, for only what is known can be controlled. Name the six Tall Gods." "Mother Sea and Father Earth, Mother Sun and Father Moon, Mother War and---" The door banged wide and that seeking wind tore through the chamber. The flames in the firepit jumped as Yarvi did, dancing distorted in the hundred hundred jars and bottles on the shelves. A figure blundered up the steps, setting the bunches of plants swinging like hanged men behind him. It was Yarvi's Uncle Odem, hair plastered to his pale face with the rain and his chest heaving. He stared at Yarvi, eyes wide, and opened his mouth but made no sound. One needed no gift of empathy to see he was weighed down by heavy news. "What is it?" croaked Yarvi, his throat tight with fear. His uncle dropped to his knees, hands on the greasy straw. He bowed his head, and spoke two words, low and raw. "My king." And Yarvi knew his father and brother were dead. Excerpted from Half a King by Joe Abercrombie All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

---