Fall of Kings (Troy Series #3)

Fall of Kings (Troy Series #3)

4.6 38
by David Gemmell, Stella Gemmell

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Outside the golden city of Troy, Prince Hektor leads the Trojan cavalry in daring raids against the forces led by his young rival, the peerless warrior Achilles. Meanwhile, burning for vengeance after the brutal murder of his wife, Helikaon commands the Trojan fleet, sowing misery and death among the Mykene navy and supply ships. But even these mighty efforts are


Outside the golden city of Troy, Prince Hektor leads the Trojan cavalry in daring raids against the forces led by his young rival, the peerless warrior Achilles. Meanwhile, burning for vengeance after the brutal murder of his wife, Helikaon commands the Trojan fleet, sowing misery and death among the Mykene navy and supply ships. But even these mighty efforts are of scant avail against the hordes of battle-hardened Mykene infantry, the Myrmidon soldiers of Achilles, and the cunning strategies of Odysseus, compelled against his heart’s urgings to aid the cause of Agamemnon.

Now, before the gates of Troy, Hektor and Achilles will find themselves inexorably drawn into a battle of champions that will decide the fate of the innocents trapped within the city walls. There, as King Priam slips into madness, Andromache–wife of Hektor, lover of Helikaon, mother, warrior, and priestess–must navigate a maze of treachery and danger to save her children and her city from the massacre about to unfold.

Editorial Reviews

School Library Journal

Adult/High School
This story is told as if it were the true history from which the Iliad was written. Homer, we find, got parts of the story wrong. The Helen portrayed here is a plain-looking woman who becomes beautiful in the way she dies, even to the men sent to kill her. Achilles and Hecktor duel to the death, only to be betrayed by someone else and die fighting at each other's side. And the Trojan Horse is transformed from a wooden ruse into something more believable, but just as clever and lethal. Characters have been changed, invented, and blended together from the cast in the Iliad and are vividly brought to life. David Gemmell's Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow (2005) and Troy: Shield of Thunder (2007, both Ballantine) have a depth of narrative and spectacle similar to Tolkien's tales of Middle Earth, and teens raised on those books and their like will be at home here. The author died before finishing this book. His wife helped research the earlier volumes in the series and worked from her husband's half-finished draft and notes seamlessly to finish this last, powerful title in the saga.
—Will MarstonCopyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews
Final volume in the authors' historical fantasy (Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow, 2005, etc.) very loosely based on The Iliad. The narrative was completed by Stella following the death of her husband in 2006. Agamemnon of Mykene and his allies seek the destruction of Troy and its king, Priam, for the latter's supposedly vast hoard of treasure, not revenge for the abduction of the fabled Helen-here she is plain, plump and peripheral. Odysseus, a wanderer and fabulist, has strong ties to Troy's main ally, fierce mariner Helikaon (aka Aeneas) of Dardania, and sides with Agamemnon only because of a now-regretted oath. Warrior Achilles despises cold, treacherous, ambitious Agamemnon. Priam's in his dotage, and turns over the defense of Troy to his sons. However, before the battle for Troy can reach its climax, Helikaon must take Andromache, Prince Hektor's wife, to the island of Thera to return some bones and fulfill a vow. Andromache-just one of the many strong female characters-loves Helikaon as well as her husband, and complications ensue. Helikaon's warship is the most powerful on the seas-and he's armed with Greek fire! Other anachronisms abound: the Mykene fight in Macedonian phalanxes; the characters merrily chomp on corn bread. There's plenty of revisionism, too: Achilles kills Paris, not the other way around, and never sulks in his tent, while his single combat with Hektor ends not at all as Homer would have us believe. Finally, the Trojan Horse, still a brilliant deception inspired by Odysseus, owes nothing to a hollow statue on wheels. A rousing conclusion for fans of the previous volumes-but not one for the purists.
From the Publisher
“If Hollywood wants to find a new book-based, war-filled fantasy franchise that repeats the success of The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia . . . it may want to look to Gemmell for inspiration.”—Wall Street Journal

“Unexpected twists and turns . . . This imaginative retelling breathes new life into [this] tale of intrigue and deception.”—Booklist

“Strong characterizations and sturdy plotting evoke the horror of the conflict, and the story’s mythic power.”—Publishers Weekly

Product Details

Transworld Publishers Limited
Publication date:
Troy Series, #3
Product dimensions:
6.44(w) x 9.50(h) x 1.75(d)

Read an Excerpt


Fall of Kings
By David Gemmell

Ballantine Books

Copyright © 2007 David Gemmell
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780345477033

Book One

The Gathering Storm

Chapter One

A black wind rising

Penelope, queen of Ithaka, understood the nature of dreams and the portents and omens that dogged men’s lives. So she sat on the beach, a gold-embroidered shawl around her slender shoulders, and glanced at the sky from time to time, watching for passing birds and hop- ing for a better omen. Five swallows would predict a safe journey for Odysseus, two swans good fortune; an eagle would indicate a victory—or, for Odysseus, a trading success. But the skies were clear. A light wind sprang from the north. The weather was perfect for sailing.

The old galley had been repaired, debarnacled, and recalked ready for spring, but new timbers and a coat of fresh paint could not conceal her age, which showed in every line as she lay half in and half out of the shallow water.

“Build a new ship, Ugly One,” she had told her husband countless times. “This one is old and tired and will be your downfall.” They had argued about it for years. But in this she had no power to sway him. He was not by nature a sentimental man; his affable demeanor hid a core of bronze and horn, yet she knew he would never replace the old ship he had named afterher.

Penelope sighed, a gentle sadness settling over her. I am that ship, she realized. I am getting old. There is gray in my hair, and the time is swiftly passing. But more significant than the fading of her chestnut hair or the increasing lines upon her face, the monthly flows of blood that indicated youth and fecundity were becoming less frequent. Soon she would be past childbearing age, and there would be no new sons for Odysseus. The sadness deepened into sorrow as she remembered pale Laertes and the fever that had melted away his flesh.

On the beach Odysseus was striding angrily around the galley, his face red, arms gesturing, bellowing at his crewmen, who hurried to load the cargo. There was a sorrow among the men, too; she could feel it as she watched them. A few days previously their comrade Portheos, whom they called Portheos the Pig, a fat, jovial, and popular young man who had sailed with the Penelope for many summers, had died. His young wife, pregnant with their fourth child, had awoken at dawn to find Portheos dead on their pallet bed beside her.

On the Penelope two crewmen were hauling on a heavy bale of the brushwood used for packing cargo in the hold. Suddenly one lost his grip and stumbled, and the other was catapulted into the sea after the stack of wood. Odysseus swore colorfully and turned to his wife, raising his arms in a gesture of despair.

Penelope smiled, her spirits lifting as she watched him. He was always happiest when about to leave for foreign shores. Throughout the spring and summer he would roam the Great Green, buying and selling, telling his stories, meeting kings and pirates and beggars.

“I’ll miss you, lady,” he had told her the previous night as she lay in his arms, her fingers gently curling into the red-gray hair of his chest. She had made no reply. She knew when he would remember her—at each night’s fall, when the dangers of the day had passed, he would think of her and miss her a little.

“I will think of you every day,” he added. Still she said nothing. “The pain of your absence will be a constant dagger wound in my heart.”

She smiled against his chest and knew he felt the smile.

“Don’t mock me, woman,” he said fondly. “You know me too well.”

On the beach in the dawn light she watched him as he stomped across the sand to speak to Nestor, king of Pylos and her kins- man. The contrast between the two men was remarkable. Odysseus, barrel-chested, loud, and angry, attacked each day as if it were a mortal enemy. Nestor, slim, gray, and stooped, was a small point of calm in the storm of activity on the beach. Although Nestor was only ten years older than her husband, he had the demeanor of an ancient; Odysseus was like an excited child. She loved him, and her eyes pricked with unaccustomed tears for the journeys and perils he faced.

He had returned to her only a few days before, accompanied by Nestor, after a reluctant voyage to Sparta at the request of Agamemnon, king of Mykene.

“Agamemnon is intent on revenge,” old Nestor had said, sitting in the megaron late in the evening, a cup of wine comfortably full in his grip, one of his hounds at his feet. “The meeting at Sparta was a failure for him, yet he will not be diverted from his path.”

“The man is obsessed,” Odysseus said. “He summoned the kings of the west and talked of alliance and peace. Yet all the while he dreams of a war with Troy—a war he can only fight if we all join with him.”

Penelope heard the anger in his voice. “Why would any join him?” she asked. “His hatred for Troy is a private matter.”

Nestor shook his head. “There are no private matters for the Mykene king. His ego is colossal. What touches Agamemnon touches the world.” He leaned forward. “Everyone knows he is angry at being thwarted by Helikaon and the traitor Argurios.”

“The traitor Argurios, is it?” Odysseus snapped. “Interesting what makes a man a traitor, is it not? A fine warrior, a man who had faithfully served Mykene all his life, was declared outlaw and stripped of his land, possessions, and good name. Then his king tried to have him killed. Treacherously, he fought for his life and that of the woman he loved.”

Nestor nodded. “Yes, yes, kinsman. He was a fine warrior. Did you ever meet him?”

Penelope knew he was seeking to defuse Odysseus’ anger. She masked a smile. No one with any sense wanted to see Odysseus in a fury.

“Aye, he sailed with me to Troy,” Odysseus replied. “An unpleasant man. But every one of those Mykene would have been slaughtered at Priam’s palace had it not been for Argurios.”

“As it was, they were slaughtered when they returned home,” Penelope added quietly.

“It was called the Night of the Lion’s Justice,” Nestor said. “Just two escaped, and they were declared outlaw.”

“And this is the king you wish to support in a war?” asked Odysseus, swigging mightily from his wine cup. “A man who sends valiant warriors to fight his battles and then murders them when they fail?”

“I have not yet offered ships or men to Agamemnon.” The old man stared into his wine cup. Penelope knew that Nestor had not argued against a war but had kept his own counsel among the kings gathered at Sparta. “However, Agamemnon’s ambitions affect everyone,” he said at last. “With him you are either friend or foe. Which are you, Odysseus?”

“Neither. All men know I am neutral.”

“Easy to be neutral when you have secret supplies of wealth,” said Nestor. “But Pylos depends on trading its flax up into Argos and the north. Agamemnon controls the trade routes. To go against him would be ruinous.” He glanced at Odysseus, and his eyes narrowed. “So tell me, Odysseus, where are these Seven Hills that are making you rich?”

Penelope felt the tension in the room rise, and she glanced at Odysseus.

“On the edge of the world,” Odysseus replied, “and guarded by one-eyed giants.”

Had Nestor not been drinking heavily, he would have noticed the harsh edge in Odysseus’ reply. Penelope took a deep breath, preparing herself to intervene.

“I would have thought, kinsman, that you might have shared your good fortune with others of your blood rather than a foreigner,” Nestor said.

“And I would have,” Odysseus said, “save that the foreigner you speak of discovered the Seven Hills and opened up the trade route. It is not for me to share his secrets.”

“Only his gold,” Nestor snapped.

Odysseus hurled his wine cup across the room. “You insult me in my own palace?” he roared. “We had to fight for the Seven Hills against brigands and pirates and painted tribesmen. That gold was hard-won.”

The angry atmosphere lay thick in the megaron, and Penelope forced a smile. “Come, kinsmen. You sail for Troy tomorrow for the wedding feast and games. Do not let this night end with harsh words.”

The two men looked at each other. Then Nestor sighed. “Forgive me, old friend. My words were ill advised.”

“It is forgotten,” Odysseus said, gesturing at a servant to bring him another cup of wine.

Penelope heard the lie in the words and knew that Odysseus was still angry. “At least in Troy you will be able to forget Agamemnon for a while,” she said, seeking to change the subject.

“The western kings are all invited to see Hektor wed to Andromache,” Odysseus said glumly.

“But Agamemnon will not be there, surely?”

“I think he will, my love. Sly Priam will use the opportunity to bend some of the kings to his will. He will offer them gold and friendship. Agamemnon cannot afford not to go. He will be there.”

“Is he invited? After the Mykene attack on Troy?”

Odysseus grinned and imitated the pompous tones of the Mykene king. “I am saddened”—he spread his hands regretfully—“by the treacherous attack by rogue elements of the Mykene forces on our brother King Priam. The king’s justice has been meted out to the outlaws.”

“The man is a serpent,” Nestor admitted.

“Will your sons compete in the games?” Penelope asked him.

“Yes, they are both fine athletes. Antilochos will do well in the javelin, and Thrasymedes will beat any man in the archery tourney,” he added with a wink.

“There’ll be a green moon in the sky that day,” muttered Odysseus. “On my worst day I could spit an arrow farther than he could shoot one.”

Nestor laughed. “How coy you are with your wife in the room. The last time I heard you brag about your skills, you said you could fart an arrow farther.”

“That, too,” Odysseus said, reddening. Penelope was relieved to see good humor restored.

On the beach the Penelope was finally fully loaded, and the crew members were straining on ropes in the effort to get the old ship refloated. The two sons of Nestor were there, both waist-deep, their backs against the timbers of the hull, pushing her out into deeper water.

The queen of Ithaka stood and brushed pebbles from her dress of yellow linen and advanced down the beach to say farewell to her king. He stood with his first mate, Bias the Black, dark-skinned and grizzled, the son of a Nubian mother and an Ithakan sire. Beside him was a massively muscled blond sailor named Leukon, who was becoming a fistfighter of some renown. Leukon and Bias bowed as she approached, then moved off.

Penelope sighed. “And here we are again, my love, as always,” she said, “making our farewells.”

“We are like the seasons,” he replied. “Ever constant in our actions.”

Reaching out, she took his hand. “And yet this time is different, my king. You know it, too. I fear you will have hard choices to make. Do not make bullheaded decisions you will regret afterward and cannot change. Do not take these men into a war, Odysseus.”

“I have no wish for war, my love.” He smiled, and she knew he meant it, but her heart was heavy with foreboding. For all his strength, his courage, and his wisdom, the man she loved had one great weakness. He was like an old warhorse, canny and cautious, but at the touch of the whip he would ride into fire. For Odysseus that whip was pride.

He kissed both of her hands then turned and stomped down the beach and into the sea. The water was chest-high before he grabbed a rope and hauled himself up on board. Instantly the rowers took up a beat, and the old ship started to glide away. She saw him wave his arm, silhouetted against the rising sun.

She had not told him of the gulls. He would only scoff. Seagulls were stupid birds, he would say. They have no place in prophecy.

But she had dreamed of a colossal flock of gulls that blotted out the sun like a black wind rising, turning the midday sky to night.

And that wind brought death and the end of worlds.

From the Hardcover edition.


Excerpted from Troy by David Gemmell Copyright © 2007 by David Gemmell. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

David Gemmell’s first novel, Legend, was first published in 1984 and went on to become a classic. His most recent Drenai and Rigante novels are available as Corgi paperbacks; all are Sunday Times bestsellers. Widely regarded as the finest writer of heroic fantasy, David Gemmell lived in Sussex until his tragic death in July 2006.

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Fall of Kings (Troy Trilogy #3) 4.6 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 38 reviews.
ynotlaugh More than 1 year ago
I am dying of heart failure.26 heart attacks, 22 angioplasties and 2 bypasses.... I am a vast history reader and Books like those of the Troy Series make what time I have enjoyable and are as historical as i can believe
duke3571 More than 1 year ago
It is sad to think that this is David Gemmell's last book and that he died before completing it. Fortunately Stella Gemmell did an outstanding job at finishing what her husband started.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
As good a piece of epic historical fiction as you'll ever find.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
See above
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Xena-WP More than 1 year ago
This series is a clever , fast paced retelling of the Illiad.It is more complex and imaginative than the movie "Troy" although it focuses on the same historic event. Fascinating , yet logical explanations are offered on the "legends" of The Trojan Horse, Helen of Troy, and Circe, to name a few. The characters are compelling, flawed yet heroic and we come to relate to them, suffer with them and wish we knew them or were them. David Gemmel creates living breathing, complex characters better than any other author in the genre. I flew through the 3 books in the trilogy and was actually depressed when I finished because alas, there will be no more. He died prior to finishing the last book, which was completed by his wife Stella. If you liked this story, go back and read his first book" Legend" and his sagas of the Drenai. I doubt will be another author that moves me as much as this one. Xena