Unbound: Tales by Masters of Fantasy
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Not bound, as a book. Free.
Like Unfettered before it, the contributing writers of Unbound were allowed to submit the tales they wished fans of genre to read—without the constraints of a shackling theme.
The result is magical. Twenty-three all-original stories are sure to captivate you—some will move you to tears while others will keep you turning the pages long into the night. The power of Unbound lies in its variety of tales and the voices behind them. If you are a fan of discovering new writers or reading the works of beloved authors, Unbound is for you.
Return to Landover with Terry Brooks. Go to trial with Harry Dresden and Jim Butcher. Enter the Citadel and become remade with Rachel Caine. Survive a plague with John Marco and his robot companion Echo. Be painted among the stars by Mary Robinette Kowal. These tales and the others that comprise the anthology are only bound by how enchanting and enthralling they are.
Here is the line-up:
- Small Kindnesses by Joe Abercrombie (Shev & Javre)
- An Unfortunate Influx of Filipians by Terry Brooks (Landover)
- Mr. Island by Kristen Britain
- Jury Duty by Jim Butcher (Dresden Files)
- Madwalls by Rachel Caine
- The Way Into Oblivion by Harry Connolly
- Uncharming by Delilah Dawson
- All In a Night’s Work by David Anthony Durham
- Son of Crimea by Jason M. Hough (Zero World)
- Dichotomy of Paradigms by Mary Robinette Kowal
- A Good Name by Mark Lawrence (Broken Empire)
- River and Echo by John Marco
- Seven Tongues by Tim Marquitz
- The Siege of Tilpur by Brian McClellan (Powder Mage)
- Fiber by Seanan McGuire
- Stories Are Gods by Peter Orullian (Vault of Heaven)
- Heart’s Desire by Kat Richardson
- The Hall of the Diamond Queen by Anthony Ryan (Raven's Shadow)
- The Dead’s Revenant by Shawn Speakman (Annwn Cycle)
- The Farmboy Prince by Brian Staveley
- The Game by Michael J. Sullivan
- The Ethical Heresy by Sam Sykes
- The Rat by Mazarkis Williams
Unbound is filled with spectacularly wonderful stories, each one as diverse as its creator.
You will be changed upon finishing it.
And that is the point.
atmospheric tingle that followed an expulsion of lightning, the subtle increase of pressure that followed levitation and use of force. And because he knew what she was seeking, he knew she couldn’t find it, even before the light faded from her eyes and a frown creased her face. “Nothing,” she muttered. A short, haggard breath. Then the light flared back to her eyes. She stomped her foot and a wave of invisible force roiled out, bending the grass and nearly knocking Dreadaeleon to his rear. “DAMN
Anything?” “Shut up!” “What do you suppose they told her to tear you from her breast? What price did they offer you?” “Heretic, I’m warning you.” “Heretic.” He laughed. “I never even entertained the word until I learned how I had been taken. Do you suppose you were made the same way? Did they take you from her? Did she fight them? Did they raise their hands and speak their words and—” She did not tell him again. Her response was no word. It was a sound. It was loud and booming, exploding
guard brought the stock of his musket to bear, slamming it across Tamas's jaw with enough force to drop a camel. Tamas staggered back, his head ringing from the blow, grateful for the powder trance that kept him coherent. He caught the next swing of the musket and jerked it out of the guard's hands, jamming the stock into the man's throat. The Gurlish collapsed, gasping and gurgling. Tamas's hands shook from the speed of the fight, his chest heaving. His head pounded, and there was a slash
This slave trade was real. “So, I sought out a trader willing to take me with him when he went to sell stock to Quiet hands. Inside the Bourne.” Darius furrowed his brow with exaggeration. “So, you’re saying you’ve been there yourself?” I shook my head. “I couldn’t pass through the Veil. Walking through a canyon in the Pall Mountains, I just suddenly couldn’t move forward.” “But your trader friend could?” Darius asked, with a hint of mocking. “Ayuh,” I replied, ignoring his condescending
good enough. Not by a damn jot. “I have a proof in mind,” said I. “One that’ll make them angry as every last hell.” “I’ll get you some sky gear—instruments, notation, skyglass,” Martin said, his voice as gleeful as when he replayed the pageants he used to perform. “Dear abandoning gods, here we come,” I raised a loud whoop that echoed out over my cornfield, the way my dad used to. “A story proof.” “Which story?” Martin asked, wearing a conspiratorial grin. “Not a story.” I shook my head. “A