Henry H. Neff - The Fiend and the Forge: Book Three of The Tapestry

I n The Fiend and the Forge, Max McDaniels explores a strange new world while confronting demons without and within. The same might be said about writing. But while heroes often face such dangers alone, authors can usually count on help.

This book was more ambitious than its predecessors and I would never have been able to complete it without the unflagging support and encouragement of my wonderful family and close friends. Throughout the process, there were many occasions when I needed to indulge my creative angst and howl at the moon. Their collective willingness to listen, soothe, and provide perspective is a testament to their tolerance and sense of humor. These indulgent souls include my mother, Terry Zimmerman; my siblings, John and Victoria; friends who have known me since I had hair; and my former colleagues and students.

While my friends and family provided invaluable support, many others played a more direct role in bringing the final product into being. The original draft was a monster, some 250,000 words of unfiltered ideas and innumerable plot threads. After all, there was a new world to create, and I was eager to explore every aspect of various cultures, kingdoms, economies, and secondary characters. My editors at Random House, Nick Eliopulos and Schuyler Hooke, did a masterful job of taming this beast, divining my best intentions and shaping the story to match. Nicole de las Heras is the visionary behind the books beautiful design, while the heroic efforts of Carrie Andrews, Diane Joo, and Alison Kolani ensured clarity and consistency in the text. As always, Josh and Tracey Adams of Adams Literary provided sound counsel, while Jocelyn Lange ensured that many readers around the world could share Maxs adventures in their native languages. As deadlines loomed, these individuals went above and beyond the call of duty, and Im eternally grateful for their commitment and professionalism.

The final acknowledgment goes to my wife, Danielle Raymond Neff. The Hound of Rowan might have sparked our first date, but The Fiend and the Forge sparked a marriage. This is my final wedding present, and Danielle has earned it tenfold. If authors are notoriously difficult partners, authors past deadline are insufferable. I have trespassed upon the poor womans sanity in every conceivable waykeeping inhuman hours, scattering drafts and drawings, raiding her snacks, and subjecting her to every creative impulse, no matter how unformed or silly. She has endured all with saintly patience while contributing many crucial insights regarding the story and characters. She makes me a better man, and she has made this a better book. I am eternally grateful.

Henry H. Neff is a former consultant and history teacher from the Chicago area. Today he lives and writes in Brooklyn, New York. The Fiend and the Forge is his third book. You can visit him at henryhneff.com.

T HE T APESTRY

B OOK 4

T HE M AELSTROM

Available Fall 2012

I t was not the warm sun or the bleating lambs that woke Max McDaniels. Rather, it was the soft patter of little feetsly, terribly eager feetthat converged upon him as he lay amid the ripening corn. Max kept still while the first of his visitors hopped onto his chest. He did not stir at the second or third. But once the twelfth clambered up with an exasperated peep, Max cracked an eye and smiled.

Twelve goslings stood upon him. Downy heads bobbed; inscrutable eyes glistened like wet pebbles. With a sudden, triumphant honk, the boldest stepped forward and tapped its hard little beak on Maxs breastbone. The others followed suit, and soon Max writhed and chuckled beneath the Lilliputian assault.

Ouch! he exclaimed, shooing at them halfheartedly. Im awake!

The pecking continued.

MAX! bellowed a shrill female voice.

Several crows took flight as a plump white goose crashed through the cornstalks and into Maxs row, looking frantically from side to side.

There you are! exclaimed the goose. Sleeping away like a lazy bottom!

Bottoms cant be lazy, Hannah, murmured Max. He plucked the last of the marauding goslings off his stomach and placed it on the ground, where it promptly resumed its indiscriminate pecking.

Like-a-lazy-bottom! sang the goose, aspiring to an operatic tremolo.

Bravo, said Max, rising to his feet.

Thank you, replied Hannah, curtsying. She waddled forward and gave him a motherly once-over. Max, there are a gazillion things to do, and you should know better than to sneak off for a handful of winks.

Ive been working late every day for a month, protested Max, emphasizing the point with a bleary yawn.

Excuses, excuses, retorted Hannah. Stoop down a bit, dear. Max bent over in silent resignation while the goose flicked bits of dirt and hay from his shirt and smoothed his dark hair into a respectable shape. She sighed. You of all people should know how special tomorrow is.

I do, said Max. Ill do my part.

Youll do your part now, she said pointedly. On the double!

The matronly goose buffeted Max forward with her powerful wing and whistled for the goslings to fall in line. They did so dutifully, and the group now formed an orderly column as they marched through the cornfield. When they arrived at the Sanctuarys main clearing, Hannah flapped her wings excitedly. Nearly all back to normal and pretty as a picture, she crowed, gesturing toward the rebuilt Warming Lodge.

The long, low building seemed almost to bask next to its small lagoon. Its timbered walls were clean and smooth. There was no trace of splintered wood or blackened stone, nothing to suggest that this very building had been recently reduced to embers.

Hmmm, said Max, privately thinking that Rowan Academy, while largely rebuilt, would never be back to normal. Only six months ago, Astaroths armies had rampaged across the schools sprawling campus, burning its forests, razing its structures, and slaughtering its flocks as they marched upon Rowans final refuge in the cliffs. Many lives had been lost. It was Max who ultimately withstood them, fighting on alone until the only remaining option was to surrender the Book of Thoth to the Demon that coveted it. It had been a wrenching decision, but Astaroth had seemingly kept his word and fulfilled their bargain. The monstrous armies were spirited away, and Rowan had been left in peace, battered and broken, but free to rebuild at its own pace.

By any standard, that pace had been remarkable. Using magic and muscle, crops were planted, stone was quarried, forests were raised, and herds restocked. The Sanctuarys broad plain was now thick with grain fields, lush orchards, and grazing herds that were hemmed by a broad forest that sloped up into the mountains. Max inhaled the September air and spied a family of shimmering pixies as they skimmed toward a yellowing oak.

It was not just the Demons peaceful withdrawal or recent glimpses of notoriously shy pixies that roused Maxs curiosity. There were other changes, too. Since Astaroth had claimed the Book, Max had felt the world thawingas though the Earth had clomped in from the cold, stamped snow from her boots, and settled by a comfortable fire.