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500 pages, Hardcover
First published December 8, 2022
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“We can’t bring perfection to the world without the threat of force. We can’t rely on the threat of force unless they know we will follow up on it.”
Before that, the locals used to call it the City of Last Chances, after all those who came seeking an escape they never quite managed to find. Because the Anchorwood keeps its secrets, and always has done. The Wood, which gave the place its first name, long before someone set stone and stone and named it Ilmar. The Wood, the hole in the world, the Indwellers, the last house and its long succession of keepers. The Port to Nowhere.
There has always been a darkness in Ilmar. You cannot live with those neighbours without taking something of the dark between the trees into you. The Palleseen brought their unimaginative cruelties and the vices and misdeeds of their individual leaders. The Old Duke and his predecessors had their long catalogue of venality. Before them, the Varatsins and their antecedents, who had embraced the dark by wedding it. Every bright lantern anyone turned on Ilmar only strengthened its shadows. Pull back, one last time. Some few strands remain uncut. Tie them off, one by one.
We will be ashamed of what we did here, one day. And at least, if that came true, it would mean things had got better. A better tomorrow bought with a succession of compromised todays.
Ilmar, City of Last Chances, City of Bad Decisions, the Port to Nowhere. The last escape from any trouble you might happen to be in, gateway to a thousand worse places. Once, there was a forest. One day, there will be the forest once more. Until then, Ilmar.
‘He asked: “What must I do?” In his ears, the drum had gone from pavane to martial rattle.
It told him. So simple. The undoing of all things was so wretchedly simple.’
“The hemp,” [he] growled. “The roughest hog-bristle hemp you have. But I will have the shave. Let my corpse show the rope burn.”
"He jolted into action, running after them, desperate to pick up their trail, feeling the claws of a century of decay and merriment snagging at his heels."
“A terrible beauty, his heart whispered to him. And he knew he wanted to go there. To walk the dreadful roads. To stare from the eye-socket windows of those crumbling edifices. To ride the white horse and do battle with monsters.”