Livraison gratuite en 1 jour ouvré avec Amazon Premium
Commencez à lire The Dark Defiles sur votre Kindle dans moins d'une minute. Vous n'avez pas encore de Kindle ? Achetez-le ici Ou commencez à lire dès maintenant avec l'une de nos applications de lecture Kindle gratuites.

Envoyer sur votre Kindle ou un autre appareil


Essai gratuit

Découvrez gratuitement un extrait de ce titre

Envoyer sur votre Kindle ou un autre appareil

The Dark Defiles
Agrandissez cette image

The Dark Defiles [Format Kindle]

Richard K. Morgan

Prix conseillé : EUR 14,88 De quoi s'agit-il ?
Prix éditeur - format imprimé : EUR 14,97
Prix Kindle : EUR 7,99 TTC & envoi gratuit via réseau sans fil par Amazon Whispernet
Économisez : EUR 6,98 (47%)

App de lecture Kindle gratuite Tout le monde peut lire les livres Kindle, même sans un appareil Kindle, grâce à l'appli Kindle GRATUITE pour les smartphones, les tablettes et les ordinateurs.

Pour obtenir l'appli gratuite, saisissez votre adresse e-mail ou numéro de téléphone mobile.


Prix Amazon Neuf à partir de Occasion à partir de
Format Kindle EUR 7,99  
Relié EUR 26,81  
Broché EUR 11,97  
MP3 CD, Livre audio EUR 33,68  

Souhaitez un Joyeux Noël à vos proches en leur offrant des chèques-cadeaux

Les clients ayant acheté cet article ont également acheté

Descriptions du produit


Chapter 1

“Well, that’s that, I suppose.”

Ringil Eskiath weighed the desiccated human jawbone glumly in the palm of his hand. He crouched on the edge of the opened grave, fighting off a vague urge to jump down into it.

Looks cozy down there. Out of the wind, dark and warm . . .

He rubbed at his unshaven chin instead. Three days of stubble, rasping on calloused fingers, itching on hollow cheeks. His cloak, puddled about him where he crouched, was soiled at the border and soaking up water from the rain-­drenched grass. The shoulder of his sword arm nagged from the unrelenting damp.

He shut out the ache and brooded on what lay below him in the grave.

They’d come a long way for this.

There wasn’t much—­shards of wood that might once have formed a casket, a few long strips of leather, cured stiff and crumbling. A mess of small bone fragments, like the leavings of some overenthusiastic soothsayer on the scry . . .

Gil sighed and levered himself back to his feet. Tossed the jawbone back in with the rest.

“Fucking waste of five months.”

“My lord?”

Shahn, the marine sergeant, who’d climbed back out of the grave and now waited close by the mounds of earth his men had dug out. Behind him, the work party stood around, soil-­ and sweat-­streaked, entrenching tools in hand, scowling against the weather. Whoever dug this plot all those centuries ago, they’d chosen a spot close to the cliffs, and right now there was a blustery wind coming in off the ocean, laced with fistfuls of sleet and the promise of another storm. The three Hironish guides they’d hired back in Ornley already had their hoods up—­they stood farther from the grave, watching the sky and conversing in low tones.

Ringil brushed the traces of dirt off his hands.

“We’re all done here,” he announced loudly. “If this is the Illwrack Changeling, the worms sorted him out for us awhile back. Stow tools, let’s get back to the boats.”

A tremor of hesitation—­hands working at tool handles, feet shifting. The sergeant cleared his throat. Gestured halfheartedly at the soft-­mounded earth beside the grave.

“Sire, should we not . . . ?”

“Fill that in?” Ringil grinned harshly. “Listen, if those bones stand up and follow us down to the beach, I’ll be very surprised. But you know what—­if they do, I’ll deal with it.”

His words carved out their own patch of quiet in the rising wind. Among the men, a touching of talismans. Some muttering.

Ringil cut them a surreptitious glance, counting faces without seeming to. A couple of those he saw had been around when he took down the kraken, but most were on the other ships at the time; or they were aboard Dragon’s Demise but in their bunks. It had been a filthy night anyway—­rain and howling wind, bandlight muffled up in thick, scudding cloud, and the encounter was over almost as soon as it began. All but a handful missed the action.

They had reports from their comrades, of course, but Ringil couldn’t blame them for doubting it. Killing a kraken, at the height and heart of an ocean storm by night—­yeah, right. It was a stock scene out of myth, a lantern-­light story to frighten the cabin boy with. It was a fucking tale.

It was five weeks now, and no one was calling him Krakenbane that he’d noticed.

He supposed it was for the best. He’d held enough commands in the past to know how it went. Best not to disabuse your men of their tight-­held notions, whatever those might be. That went in equal measure for those who doubted him and those who told tales of his prowess. The actual truth would probably scare both parties out of their wits, and that, right here and now, was going to be counterproductive.

They were twitchy enough as it was.

He faced them. Put one booted foot on the forlorn, shin-­high chunk of mossed-­over granite that served the grave as marker. He pitched his voice for them all to hear—­pearls of dark wisdom from the swordsman sorcerer in your midst.

“All right, people, listen up. Anyone wants to sprinkle salt, go right ahead, get it done. But if we stay here to fill this hole in, we’re going to get drenched.”

He nodded westward, out to sea. It was not long past noon, but the sour afternoon light was already closing down. Clouds raced in from the north, boiling up like ink poured in a glass of water. Overhead, the sky was turning the black of a hanged man’s face.

Yeah—­be calling that an omen before you know it.

His mood didn’t improve much on the way back to the boats. He took point on the meandering sheep track that brought them down off the cliffs. Set a punishing pace over the yielding, peaty ground. No one made the mistake of trying to stay abreast or talk to him.

By way of contrast, there was raucous good cheer at his back. The marines had loosened up with the permission to lay wards. Now they tramped boisterously along behind him, good-­natured bickering and jeering in the ranks. It was as if they’d poured out their misgivings with the salt from their tooled leather bags, left it all behind them in the tiny white traceries they’d made.

Which, Ringil supposed, they had, and wasn’t that the whole point of religion anyway?

But he was honest enough to recognize his own released tension as well. Because, despite all the other pointless, empty graves, despite his own increasingly solid conviction that they were wasting their time, he, too, had gone up to those cliffs expecting a fight.

Wanting a fight.

Little vestiges of the feeling still quivered at the nape of his neck and in his hands. Enough to know it had been there, even if he hadn’t spotted it at the time.

Last resting place of the Illwrack Changeling.


This being the ninth last resting place to date. The ninth grave of the legendary Dark King they’d dug up, only to find the detritus of common mortality beneath.

Has to be an easier way to do this shit.

Really, though, there wasn’t, and he knew it. They were all strangers here, himself included. Oh, he’d read about the Hironish isles in his father’s library as a boy, learned the arid almanac facts from his tutors. And growing up in Trelayne he’d known a handful of people who’d spent time there in exile. But this was not knowledge with practical application, and anyway it was decades out of date. Fluent Naomic aside, he had no useful advantage over his fellow expedition members.

Meanwhile, Anasharal the Helmsman, full of ancient unhuman knowing when they planned the expedition back in Yhelteth last year, was now proving remarkably cagey about specifics. The Kiriath demon was either unwilling or unable to point them with any clarity to the Changeling’s grave, and instead suggested—­somewhat haughtily—­that they do the legwork themselves and inquire of the locals. I fell from on high for your benefit, went the habitual gist of the lecture. Is it my fault that I no longer have the vision I gave up in order to bring my message to you? I have steered you to journey’s end. Let human tongues do the rest.

But the Hironish islanders were a notoriously closed-­mouth bunch—­even Gil’s dull-­as-­dishwater tutors had mentioned that. Historically, they’d been know to harbor popular pirates and tax evaders despite anything the League’s heavy-­handed customs officers could do about it. To lie with impassive calm in the face of threats, to spit with contempt at drawn steel, and to die under torture rather than give up a fellow islander.

So they certainly weren’t about to spill the secrets of settled generations to some bunch of poncey imperials who showed up from the alien south and started asking oh, hey, we hear there’s this dark lord out of legend buried around here somewhere. Any chance you could take us to him?

Not just like that, anyway.

It took a week of careful diplomacy in and out of the taverns in Ornley and then out to the hamlets and crofts beyond, just to find a handful of locals who would talk to them. It took soft words and coin and endless rounds of drinks. And even then, what these men had to say was sparse and contradictory:

—­the Illwrack Changeling, hmm, yes, that’d be the one from the dwenda legend. But he was never buried up here, the dwenda took him away in a shining longship, to where the band meets the ocean . . .

—­crucified him on Sirk beach for a betrayer, was what I heard, facing the setting sun as he died. His followers took him down three days later and buried him. It’s that grave up behind the old whaler’s temple.

—­the Illwrack Betrayer was brought to the Last Isle, to the Chain’s Last Link, just as the legends say. But the isle only manifests to mortal eyes at spring solstice, and even then, only with much purifying prayer. To land there would require an act of great piety. You should ask at the monastery on Glin cliffs, perhaps they can make offerings for you when you return next year.

Yeah, that’s right—­jeers from farther down the tavern bar—­you should ask his brother out at Glin. Never known him turn down a request for intercession if it came weighted with enough coin . . .

You know, I’ve had about enough out of you whelps. My brother’s a righteous man, not like some worthless bastard sons I could—­

They’d had to break that one up with fists. Start all over again.

—­the grave you seek is on a promontory of the Grey Gull peninsula, no more than a day’s march north of here. On approach, Grey Gull may seem a separate island, but do not be deceived. Certain currents cause the inlets to fill enough at certain times to make it so—­but you can always cross, at worst you might have to wade waist deep. And most of the time, you won’t even get your boots wet.

Hagh!—­a graybeard fishing skipper hawks and spits something unpleasantly yellow onto the tavern’s sawdust floor, rather close to Ringil’s boot—­not going to find that grave this side of hell! That’s where the Aldrain demons took that one—­screaming to hell!

No, no, my lords, forgive him, this is just fisherfolk superstition. The last human son of Illwrack is buried at the compass crossroads, on a rise just south of here. Some say the hill itself is the Changeling’s barrow.

—­the truth, my lords, is that the dwenda hero was laid to rest in the stone circle at Selkin, where his retainers . . .

So forth.

It was a lot of digging.

But in the absence of the imperial expedition’s other main prize—­the legendary floating city of An-­Kirilnar, which they also couldn’t seem to find right now—­there really wasn’t much else to do but tramp out to site after site and dig until disappointed.

Disappointment is a slow poison.

Initially, and for some of the closer sites, practically every figure of note on the expedition tagged along. There was still a palpable air of journey’s end hanging over them all at that point—­a sense that after all that planning, all those sea miles covered, this was it. And whatever it was, no one wanted to miss it.

True above all for Mahmal Shanta—­he went out of sheer academic curiosity and at the cost of some substantial personal discomfort. Really too old for a voyage into such cold climes anyway, Shanta was still getting over flu and had to be carried on a covered litter by six servants, which was awkward over rough ground and slowed everybody else down. Gil rolled his eyes at Archeth, but in the end what were you going to do? The naval engineer was a primary sponsor of the expedition; his family’s shipyards had built two of the three vessels they sailed in and reconditioned the third, and even in illness he held onto a stubborn and canny command of the flagship Pride of Yhelteth.

If anyone had earned the right, it was Shanta.

Archeth’s reasons for riding along were twofold, and a little more pragmatic. She went because she was overall expedition leader and it was expected of her. But more than that, she badly needed something to take her mind off the lack of any Kiriath architecture standing above the waves offshore. Not finding An-­Kirilnar had hit her hard.

Marine commander Senger Hald went ostensibly to supervise those of his men detailed to the search, but really to put an unquestionable marine boot on the proceedings. And Noyal Rakan went beside him, to show the Throne Eternal flag and remind everyone who was supposed to be in charge. The two men were coolly amicable, but the interservice rivalry was never far beneath the surface, in them or in the men they commanded.

Lal Nyanar, captain of Dragon’s Demise mostly on account of Shab Nyanar’s substantial investment in the expedition, went along even when the prospecting was done overland, apparently out of some belief that he was representing his absent father’s interests in the quest. Gil didn’t really begrudge him; Nyanar wasn’t much of a sea captain—­the sinecure commands his father had secured for him back in Yhelteth were largely ceremonial or involved river vessels—­but he did at least know how to follow orders. Out of sight of his ship, he deferred to the expedition leaders and kept his head down.

The same could not be said of the others.

Of the expedition’s other investors who’d actually made the trip north, Klarn Shendanak stuck close to the action because he didn’t trust Empire men any further than you could throw one, and that included Archeth Indamaninarmal, jet-­skinned half-­human imperial cypher that she was. Menith Tand followed suit and stuck close to Shendanak because he harbored a standard Empire nobleman’s distaste for the Majak’s rough-­and-­ready immigrant manners and would not be one-­upped. And Yilmar Kaptal went along because he mistrusted both Shendanak and Tand in about equal measure. The three of them didn’t quite spit at each other outright, but having them at your back was like leading a procession of alley cats. Shendanak never went anywhere without an eight-­strong honor guard of thuggish-­looking second cousins fresh down from the steppes, which in turn meant that Tand brought along a handful of his own mercenary crew to balance the equation, and Kaptal flat-­out demanded that Rakan muster a squad of Throne Eternal just in case . . .

Egar usually tagged along at Gil’s shoulder just to see if there’d be any kind of fight.

Revue de presse

Praise for The Dark Defiles
“A finale that displays all the purposefully hard edges and grim magnificence that made the first two volumes stand out.”Kirkus Reviews
“Morgan brings his mammoth A Land Fit for Heroes fantasy trilogy to a rousing conclusion. . . . Expect surprises and suspense, along with the usual derring-do and entertaining characters.”Booklist

Praise for Richard K. Morgan and his acclaimed series, A Land Fit for Heroes

“Bold, brutal, and making no compromises—Richard K. Morgan doesn’t so much twist the clichés of fantasy as take an axe to them. Then set fire to them.”—Joe Abercrombie

“Morgan has taken traditional sword and sorcery tropes and given them a hard, contemporary kick. The anitithesis of the cosy fairytale, this one is for big boys.”The Times (London)

“A crisp stylist who demonstrates equal facility with action scenes and angst.”—The New York Times Book Review

“A full-immersion experience, uncompromising and bleakly magnificent.”—Kirkus Reviews

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1179 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 658 pages
  • Pagination - ISBN de l'édition imprimée de référence : 0345493109
  • Editeur : Del Rey (7 octobre 2014)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Non activé
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°11.686 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
  •  Souhaitez-vous faire modifier les images ?

En savoir plus sur l'auteur

Découvrez des livres, informez-vous sur les écrivains, lisez des blogs d'auteurs et bien plus encore.

Quels sont les autres articles que les clients achètent après avoir regardé cet article?

Commentaires en ligne

Il n'y a pas encore de commentaires clients sur
5 étoiles
4 étoiles
3 étoiles
2 étoiles
1 étoiles
Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) 4.3 étoiles sur 5  69 commentaires
13 internautes sur 14 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 A challenging book, but worth the effort 10 octobre 2014
Par Joseph - Publié sur
Format:Broché|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
This is a challenging, exciting book. I'm still not 100% sure how I feel about it, but I couldn't put it down, so I'll give it five stars.

With the series now complete, Morgan has written a gritty, cynical take on the fantasy genre that shakes loose a lot of the conventions to produce something interesting. Set in a science and sorcery setting, the Land Fit For Heroes trilogy followed three companions through a widening set of challenges: Ringil, a deadly swordsman/black mage; Egar, basically a barbarian clan chief, and Archeth, the knife weilding last daughter of a race of technomagical aliens.

This is definitely not your father's Tolkein, but more like an even grittier Gene Wolfe. While Morgan includes a grand helping of mythic elements, he revels in dark realism. His characters swear, spend a lot of time discussing or experiencing sex, both gay and straight, and generally end up chopped, tortured, traumatised, and otherwise savaged by the war in which they find themselves.

There's an overarching plot that I can't really describe without spoilers, but it ultimately explains everything, satisfies the reader (at least me) and leaves enough of a twist at the end to leave me wondering how things turned out. But at bottom, this book doesn't depend on plot - it's more of a breakneck ride, where once the action gets going, almost every chapter has a life or death struggle that ends with a cliffhanger. Once things got going, I found it hard to put down.

I think the series also succeeds very well with the characters - I felt for and was interested in everyone from the heroes to their enemies to the random side characters, which is impressive.

My only gripe is the names. Even by the end of this book, I was still having trouble remembering who was who, either among the divine pantheon or the various side characters. Between that and my contiuing confusion over just how I feel about this series, I might lean towards 4 and a half stars, but it was original and engrossing enough that I'll round up. Assuming you are comfortable with explicit language, violence, etc. as well as some ambiguity, I'd strongly recommend this series.

Note: In the interests of full disclosure, I should say that I received two review copies of this book - a softbound copy from the Amazon Vine program, and an e-book from Netgalley. Neither affected my opinion - I would gladly have paid for a copy.
12 internautes sur 16 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Easily the second weakest Richard Morgan novel 14 octobre 2014
Par Piaw Na - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
The Dark Defiles is the final book of Richard Morgan's fantasy trilogy that started with The Steel Remains and The Cold Commands.

I'm a huge fan of Richard Morgan, but the problem with his approach to fantasy is to take all the complexity of modern fantasy and dial it up to 10. The result is a mix of races (dwenda, aldrain, kilrathi), fantasy (magic, dark magic, and super science) and situations that would take a very long novel to explicate.

Well, The Dark Defiles is a very long novel, but I'm not sure it fully succeeds in the explication. It's also only somewhat satisfying. The three main characters, Ringil Eskiath (the gay Barbarian swordsman), Egar Dragonbane, and Archeth (the last half-breed Kilrathi left on the planet) are split right at the start of the novel, and become only two by the end of the story.

As the story proceeds, it becomes more and more clear that the story is a far future science fiction novel, rather than a standard fantasy. This is all very nice, though it's been done before, it's usually done in some long drawn out series because most such authors seem to think it's a cool trick that should be drawn out. Morgan has no such compunctions and has no issues doing one big reveal after another.

Nevertheless, the book is deeply flawed. While the previous novels in the series do a good job of upending standard fantasy tropes, The Dark Defiles spends a bit too much time wallowing in its own meta-fiction, therefore eliminating any chance that you care about the characters. In particular, Archeth seems particularly dense for being an immortal being whose the last daughter of a race of super-engineers.

Furthermore, even the meta-fiction leaves too many questions unanswered. For instance, if the world was so broken when the Kilrathi arrived, why did they bother fighting for it? And the questions of where the random other deities that popped out remains unanswered. Even the fates of our protagonists is annoyingly left untied.

I don't want to leave you with the impression that the book isn't worth reading. The action sequences are done in ways that only Richard Morgan can. You'd be hard put to come up with a better effects budget than what occurs in the mind's eye, and Morgan shows how to do it. Each individual section of the book is comparatively well written, it's just that the whole doesn't quite come together properly and the result is unsatisfying.

Ultimately, the mystery of why this book took so long to come out, and why it was comparatively disappointing is solved when you read the afterword: the author had a son during the writing. That explains everything. Nobody can be coherent after one of those events, and it explains why the novel is so chaotic and unpolished.

If you're a fan of the fantasy genre, this book's definitely worth reading because it does a good job of being very different from what anyone else has done in the genre. If you're a fan of Richard Morgan, however, be prepared to be very disappointed. It's more ambitious than Altered Carbon, but fails far short of those ambitions and hence is probably the second weakest book in his portfolio.
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Always audacious, mostly successful take on the fantasy quest novel 20 octobre 2014
Par Sean Rueter - Publié sur
Format:Broché|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
Amazon's blurb for Morgan's Land Fit for Heroes series makes mention of George R.R. Martin and Joe Abercrombie, and there is something here for fans of both authors. But this trilogy also mixes in more than a little Michael Moorcock, M. John Harrison and Richard K. Morgan.

Yes, Morgan's prior work in science fiction definitely is both present and influential on The Dark Defiles and the two novels that proceed it. While that makes for a refreshingly different world for what would otherwise be a smart but standard take on sword and sorcery, it is also at least partially responsible for the series main flaw...with characters and devices from space and scientifically plausible other dimensions serving as deus ex machina on occasion just as much as a spell or magic sword might in a more traditional fantasy epic.

It's the authors other flourishes that make this, and all three books, special. Each represents a sub-genre (The Steel Remains a post-war mystery, The Cold Commands a conspiracy thriller, The Dark Defiles a pair of journey home narratives), but each is made unique by Morgan's characters who are different from the norm of mainstream genre fiction, and even more successfully human and flawed as a result. Throw in his gift for intriguing and well thought out world building, and penchant for thrilling, inventive fight scenes, and you have a trilogy deserving of a wide audience - even if the risks he's taken make it that much more of a challenge for it to achieve mass market success.
3 internautes sur 4 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 A HARD FOUGHT BATTLE FINALLY WON 7 octobre 2014
Par David Keymer - Publié sur
Format:Broché|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
Defiles is the third and final volume in Richard K. Morgan's fantasy trilogy about three heroes' epic battle against the dwenda, alien killing machines who pop in and out of existence and seem determined to enslave human race. Humans defeated the dwenda once before, at dreadful cost, but it appears they are here again. Three battle weary heroes oppose them: Ringil Eskiath, human, master swordsman and gay; Egar Dragonbane, a steppe nomad; and 207-year-old Archeth Indiamaninarmal, half-bred Kiriath-human, who was left behind when the Kiriath earlier abandoned earth. It would be pointless to detail all the twists and turns in the complicated plot line. Suffice it to say, that for much of the book, the heroes are looking for a fabled lost sword, supposedly wielded by the long-dead Dark King, Illwrath Changeling. They don't know if it even exists, don't know where it is if it does exist, and don't know what baggage it comes with if they ever do find it. (Magic comes with a cost in this world.) Morgan is an exceptionally good action writer and his heroes are interesting types. Though redoubtable warriors, Ringil and Egar are middle-aged now. They're thoroughly tired of fighting and strife. They don't get much chance to relax in this book but you can tell they'd like to. Or would they? For what place is there for killing machines when the killing has ended?

Morgan is reportedly headed back to science fiction after the completion of this novel. I don't care which direction he goes in, fantasy or sci fi, so long as he continues to write adventure stories of the caliber of this one.
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Nicely wrapped up trilogy 1 décembre 2014
Par Timothy W. Long - Publié sur
Format:Broché|Commentaire client Vine pour produit gratuit (De quoi s'agit-il?)
This was an excellent conclusion to the series.

The first novel caught me by surprise. I'd read all of Richard Morgan's science fiction novels and enjoyed them quite a bit. When I took the plunge with his first fantasy book I was shocked at how well he pulled it off.

This series is grimdark and contains a fair amount of sex, offensive language, and a whole lot of blood and gore. Plus the protagonist is nothing like normal fantasy trope heroes. The writing is just as fresh, in this book, as it was in the first. Returning characters are as you remember them and I found the plot threads all wrapped up nicely.

I hesitate to discuss the plot because if you haven't read the previous books you'll be a bit lost. This final novel in the trilogy is quite a long read and worth every page. There are a couple of slow parts but when the action ramps up - hold on for a wild ride.
Ces commentaires ont-ils été utiles ?   Dites-le-nous

Discussions entre clients

Le forum concernant ce produit
Discussion Réponses Message le plus récent
Pas de discussions pour l'instant

Posez des questions, partagez votre opinion, gagnez en compréhension
Démarrer une nouvelle discussion
Première publication:
Aller s'identifier

Rechercher parmi les discussions des clients
Rechercher dans toutes les discussions Amazon

Rechercher des articles similaires par rubrique