After the King Stories In Honor of J.R.R. Tolkien

With The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien in-vented modern fantasy. In honor of the 100th anniversary of his birth, a group of his literary descendants each contributed an original story to this anthology. Included are works by Stephen R. Donaldson, bestselling author of The One Tree; Peter S. Beagle, author of The Last Unicorn; and Patricia S. McKillip, author of the Riddlemaster of Hed trilogy. Here also are tales from bestsellers Terry Pratchett, Andre Norton, and Dennis L. McKiernan; award-winners Robert Silverberg, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough, Mike Resnick, Gregory Benford, John Brunner, Poul & Karen Ander-son, and Barry N. Malzberg; masters such as Charles de Lint, Jane Yolen, Karen Haber, and Harry Turtledove; and two of modern fantasy's most acclaimed stars: Judith Tarr, author of The Dagger and the Cross, and Emma Bull, author of War for the Oaks.

Reave the Just Stephen R. Donaldson Of all the strange, unrelenting stories which surrounded Reave the Just, none expressed his particular oddness of character better than that concerning his kinsman, Jillet of Forebridge. Part of the oddness was thisthat Reave and Jillet were so unlike each other that the whole idea of their kinship became difficult to credit. Let it be said without prejudice that Jillet was an amiable fool. No one who was not amiable would have been loved by the cautious people of Forebridgeand Jillet was loved, of that there could be no doubt. Otherwise the townsfolk would never have risked the unpredictable and often spectacular consequences of sending for Reave, merely to inform him that Jillet had disappeared. And no one who was not a fool would have gotten himself into so much trouble with Kelven Divestulata that Kelven felt compelled to dispose of him. In contrast, neither Reave's enemiesof which his exploits had attracted a considerable numbernor his friends would have described him as amiable. Doubtless there were villages across the North Counties, towns perhaps, possibly a city or two, where Reave the Just was admired, even adulated: Forebridge was not among them. His decisions were too wild, his actions too unremitting, to meet the chary approval of the farmers and farriers, millers and masons who had known Jillet from birth. Like a force of nature, he was so far beyond explanation that people had ceased trying to account for him. Instead of wondering why he did what he didor how he got away with itthe men and women of Forebridge asked themselves how such an implausible individual chanced to be kinsman to Jillet, who was himself only implausible in the degree to which likable character was combined with unreliable judgment. In fact, no one knew for certain that Reave and Jillet were related. Just recently, Jillet had upon occasion referred to Reave as, "Reave the Just, my kinsman." That was the true extent of the information available in Forebridge. Nothing more was revealed on the subject. In an effort to supply the lack, rumor or gossip suggested that Jillet's mother's sister, a woman of another town altogether, had fallen under the seduction of a carnival clown with delusions of grandeuror, alternatively, of a knight errant incognitoand had given Reave a bastard birth under some pitiful hedgerow, or perhaps in some nameless nunnery, or conceivably in some lord's private bedchamber. But how the strains of blood which could produce Reave had been so entirely suppressed in Jillet, neither rumor nor gossip knew. Still it must have been true that Reave and Jillet were related. When Reave was summoned in Jillet's name, he came. By the time Reave arrived, however, Jillet was beyond knowing whether anyone valued him enough to tell his kinsman what had become of him. How he first began to make his way along the road to Kelven's enmity was never clearly known. Very well, he was a fool, as all men knewbut how had he become enmeshed in folly on this scale? A few bad bargains with usurers were conceivable. A few visits to the alchemists and mages who fed on the fringes of towns like Forebridge throughout the North Counties were conceivable, in fact hardly to be wondered at, especially when Jillet was at the painful age where he was old enough to want a woman's love but too young to know how to get it. A few minor and ultimately forgettable feuds born of competition for trade or passion were not only conceivable but normal. Had not men and women been such small and harmless fools always? The folk of Forebridge might talk of such matters endlessly, seeking to persuade themselves that they were wiser. But who among them would have hazarded himsel