Dungeons & Dragons: Spelljammer: Memory's Wake

Dungeons & Dragons: Spelljammer: Memory's Wake

Set sail for the stars in this official Dungeons & Dragons novel set in the worlds of Spelljammer: Adventures in Space ! In the colossal void of Shatterspace, besieged by bloodthirsty marauders and brimming with monstrous aberrations, the only constant is power: The deft will escape the slow. The clever will outwit the naïve. The strong will take from the weak. Axia wishes she could be grateful to have spent her life—or what little she remembers of it—on an asteroid so far from anything of interest that even the greediest spacers see fit to pass it by. Her days may not be as exciting as the swashbuckling stories of her favorite books or as dramatic as the pasts she’s imagined for herself, but they’re as safe as Shatterspace can manage. So why does something inside her long for the stars every time she sees a spacefaring spelljammer vessel? When Axia survives a sudden assassination attempt, she is cornered by Kori and Nia, a pair of pirates who offer her two options: flee with them to Wildspace, where they can keep her hidden among their crew, or die. It’s an easy choice with death at her doorstep. But even in the vastness of the Astral Sea, Axia quickly realizes that her new friends haven’t been entirely honest about their motivations. It turns out, Axia is the spitting image of Blacktongue, the long-disappeared captain of one of the deadliest pirate crews in Shatterspace. And Kori and Nia have a plan to claim the mysterious treasure that the pirate queen vanished while pursuing. To survive, Axia will have to fill Blacktongue’s bloodstained boots and embark on a more perilous and thrilling adventure than any she’s dared to dream. Django Wexler is the author of flintlock fantasy series The Shadow Campaigns, middle grade fantasy The Forbidden Library , and YA fantasy The Wells of Sorcery . His latest is the fantasy comedy How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying . In his former life as a software engineer, he worked on AI research and programming languages. He currently lives near Seattle with his wife, daughter, four cats, and a teetering mountain of books. When not writing, he wrangles computers, paints tiny soldiers, and plays games of all sorts. Chapter One The sun hung directly overhead, forever unmoving, like a copper penny nailed to the vault of the empty blue sky. Sweat trickled down Axia’s neck in spite of the broad straw hat she wore, and Flotsam huffed and complained. “I know,” she said, shifting on the splintery box of the battered old cart. “You’re hungry. We’re almost there.” The giant hamster huffed again, shifting in his harness and making the cart rock. Axia laughed. “Quit it!” she told him sternly. “Tsorik wants another load by the end of firstshift.” Flotsam grumbled but kept plodding along. The trail wound back and forth between the ridges that ran along the Edge like an old woman’s wrinkles. When Axia looked over her shoulder she could see the Bowl, like a parti-­colored cloth of browns and greens, with Harbor’s cluster of buildings an ugly little wart in the center. Out here the soil was too rocky for farming, and there was little to either side of the track but stones and scrub. Perfect for staying away from prying eyes. “Not that we’re doing anything wrong,” she told Flotsam. “Not really wrong, anyway. Tsorik says cheating Vylgardr out of a few pennies of tariff is practically a public service.” She tugged gently at the reins. “Come on, here’s the turn.” Flotsam pulled the cart over a last little hillock and into the clearing, wheels crunching over brown, drying grass. Bits and pieces from past deliveries were scattered about, odd-­shaped chunks of wood bleaching in the endless sun. There were crushed pots and broken pans, lengths of fraying rope, scraps of canvas too tattered for mending. Axia wore thick-­soled boots to guard against the rusty nails buried in the turf. The latest delivery was in a loose pile, like it had been tipped from a giant’s trash bin. Planks and timbers, rails and spars, all shattered and jumbled up together. Once it had been a ship, sailing proudly among the stars and soaking in the sight of who knew what wonders. Now it was all junk, fit only for scavengers. Like me. Axia gave a glum sigh, then shook her head vigorously. “Zat’s enough of zat,” she said, in a parody of Tsorik’s accent. “Feelink zorry for yourzelf never earned anyvon a copper!” She hopped down and fetched water and feed from the otherwise empty cart, filling Flotsam’s tin bowl and pouring a pile of pellets beside it. Tipping her hat back, she took a swig from her own canteen and let a little more splash onto her face, droplets running back into her tightly bound hair. “Eat up,” she said. “Still a long day till darkshift. With any luck we’ll get to go into town!” Flotsam squeaked his approval, already stuffing food into his cheek pouches. Axia patted his furry flank and went to the pile of debris, pondering what to load first. There was an art to this, Tsorik always