Nicholas Eames
Twenty years ago, Saga, the greatest of all the "bands" (groups of
mercenary adventurers in the Dungeons and Dragons style) fought and rose
to great heights, then faded away. Now, twenty years later, they are
just five aging, past-their-prime men scattered over the land, having
lost touch. Clay "Slowhand" Cooper, who uses a formidable mystical
shield, is retired with a family in Coverdale. Their frontman, Gabriel,
a.k.a. "Golden Gabe," arrives unexpectedly to beg Clay for help: his
daughter, Rose, who is trapped in a distant city besieged by an
innumerable army of various monsters. Reluctantly, Clay joins him and
they gather the others: Moog, a klutzy wizard; the dagger-wielding,
drunk, overweight, henpecked Matrick, who has become a cuckolded king;
and Ganelon, the deadly swordsman whom they all left behind, to their
shame. They embark on a quest across a monster-filled forest known as
the Heartwyld. If the army of monsters wasn't enough to fear, they also
encounter an old enemy, Lastleaf, an immortal Druin (think: Dark Elf)
who bears quite a grudge against them.
As is obvious from the
nicknames, the story treats mercenary groups like rock stars who draw
massive crowds and inspire epic ballads. It's an amusing premise, and
the book has flashes of genuine humor and excitement. Unfortunately, it
didn't click for me. The "rock star" metaphor is tired and never really
quite fits in a fantasy setting, but that's a minor quibble. The real
problem is the laziness of the world-building. Time and again, the novel
resolves obstacles through convenient contrivances rather than
believable storytelling. The band has supposedly been out of contact for
decades, yet Moog suddenly remembers a magical portal directly to
Matrick's castle, a portal that also deposits them at precisely the
moment an assassin strikes. Other ideas are introduced only to fizzle
out. The entire country is plagued by a deadly and incurable disease
called "rot" that is meant to be an emotionally-resonant plot arc, but
it proves to be of no consequence. Matrick is depicted as terribly out
of shape, but when the fighting starts, he is a veritable superhuman, as
are they all; their age and rustiness, though often referred to, barely
affect them. None of the wounds or sacrifices the band makes ever
stick; there are therefore no stakes, and no suspense. Even the comedy
often misses its mark. Moog's insistence that owlbears are real is
treated with derision, as if he's insane, but they live in a world
populated by literally any kind or combination of monster imaginable;
the joke just has no place to land. Or the conceit that Saga's bards
always die on quests, so they've had dozens over the years! Spinal Tap got there first. Eames is trying to have it both ways here, a fantasy-setting Hitchhiker's Guide
and the high fantasy of a Joe Abercrombie. The result is certainly
entertaining in places, but I found its clever premise resting on a
foundation too flimsy to support the adventure it wanted to tell.
two stars
