Action & Adventure
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Scourged: Book Ten of The Iron Druid Chronicles
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • In the final book in The Iron Druid Chronicles, two-thousand-year-old Druid Atticus O'Sullivan confronts the Norse gods Loki and Hel to stop the impending apocalypse, while Granuaile and Owen work to secure the future of Druidry.
"[Kevin] Hearne draws his Iron Druid Chronicles to a pitch-perfect close in this dizzy, world-hopping adventure. But amidst the battles and bargaining that go into saving the world, there is also an enormous amount of heart."-RT Book Reviews
Unchained from fate, the Norse gods Loki and Hel are ready to unleash Ragnarok, a.k.a. the Apocalypse, upon the earth. They've made allies on the darker side of many pantheons, and there's a globe-spanning battle brewing that ancient Druid Atticus O'Sullivan will be hardpressed to survive, much less win.
Granuaile MacTiernan must join immortals Sun Wukong and Erlang Shen in a fight against the Yama Kings in Taiwan, and she discovers that the stakes are much higher than she thought.
Meanwhile, Archdruid Owen Kennedy must put out both literal and metaphorical fires from Bavaria to Peru to keep the world safe for his apprentices and the future of Druidry.
And Atticus recruits the aid of a tyromancer, an Indian witch, and a trickster god in hopes that they'll give him just enough leverage to both save Gaia and see another sunrise. There is a hound named Oberon who deserves a snack, after all.
Don't miss any of The Iron Druid Chronicles:
HOUNDED | HEXED | HAMMERED | TRICKED | TRAPPED | HUNTED | SHATTERED | STAKED | SCOURGED | BESIEGED
"[Kevin] Hearne draws his Iron Druid Chronicles to a pitch-perfect close in this dizzy, world-hopping adventure. But amidst the battles and bargaining that go into saving the world, there is also an enormous amount of heart."-RT Book Reviews
Unchained from fate, the Norse gods Loki and Hel are ready to unleash Ragnarok, a.k.a. the Apocalypse, upon the earth. They've made allies on the darker side of many pantheons, and there's a globe-spanning battle brewing that ancient Druid Atticus O'Sullivan will be hardpressed to survive, much less win.
Granuaile MacTiernan must join immortals Sun Wukong and Erlang Shen in a fight against the Yama Kings in Taiwan, and she discovers that the stakes are much higher than she thought.
Meanwhile, Archdruid Owen Kennedy must put out both literal and metaphorical fires from Bavaria to Peru to keep the world safe for his apprentices and the future of Druidry.
And Atticus recruits the aid of a tyromancer, an Indian witch, and a trickster god in hopes that they'll give him just enough leverage to both save Gaia and see another sunrise. There is a hound named Oberon who deserves a snack, after all.
Don't miss any of The Iron Druid Chronicles:
HOUNDED | HEXED | HAMMERED | TRICKED | TRAPPED | HUNTED | SHATTERED | STAKED | SCOURGED | BESIEGED
Editorial Reviews
Praise for The Iron Druid Chronicles
"[Kevin] Hearne is a terrific storyteller with a great snarky wit. . . . Neil Gaiman's American Gods meets Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden."-SFFWorld
"[The Iron Druid books] are clever, fast-paced and a good escape."-Boing Boing
"Hearne understands the two main necessities of good fantasy stories: for all the wisecracks and action, he never loses sight of delivering a sense of wonder to his readers, and he understands that magic use always comes with a price. Highly recommended."-The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
"Superb . . . plenty of quips and zap-pow-bang fighting."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Celtic mythology and an ancient Druid with modern attitude mix it up in the Arizona desert in this witty new fantasy series."-Kelly Meding, author of Chimera
"[Atticus is] a strong modern hero with a long history and the wit to survive in the twenty-first century. . . . A snappy narrative voice . . . a savvy urban fantasy adventure."-Library Journal
"A page-turning and often laugh-out-loud funny caper through a mix of the modern and the mythic."-Ari Marmell, author of The Warlord's Legacy
"Outrageously fun."-The Plain Dealer
"Kevin Hearne breathes new life into old myths, creating a world both eerily familiar and startlingly original."-Nicole Peeler, author of Tempest Rising
"[Kevin] Hearne is a terrific storyteller with a great snarky wit. . . . Neil Gaiman's American Gods meets Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden."-SFFWorld
"[The Iron Druid books] are clever, fast-paced and a good escape."-Boing Boing
"Hearne understands the two main necessities of good fantasy stories: for all the wisecracks and action, he never loses sight of delivering a sense of wonder to his readers, and he understands that magic use always comes with a price. Highly recommended."-The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
"Superb . . . plenty of quips and zap-pow-bang fighting."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Celtic mythology and an ancient Druid with modern attitude mix it up in the Arizona desert in this witty new fantasy series."-Kelly Meding, author of Chimera
"[Atticus is] a strong modern hero with a long history and the wit to survive in the twenty-first century. . . . A snappy narrative voice . . . a savvy urban fantasy adventure."-Library Journal
"A page-turning and often laugh-out-loud funny caper through a mix of the modern and the mythic."-Ari Marmell, author of The Warlord's Legacy
"Outrageously fun."-The Plain Dealer
"Kevin Hearne breathes new life into old myths, creating a world both eerily familiar and startlingly original."-Nicole Peeler, author of Tempest Rising
Readers Top Reviews
Nic PittmanG. J.
"Scourged" is the culminating novel of the Iron Druid series. The book continues in the same vein as previous entries to the series with all your favorite animals making their appearances and all your favorite mythological entities we've come to know over the series. Unfortunately, the book is riddled with forced political commentary and rushed plot lines resulting in the reader feeling like Kevin Hearne has moved on with his life and only finished this series because of the contract with his publisher. Let's start with my biggest gripe. The series’ main character Atticus O’Sullivan has been propped up as the target of the current mainstream liberal hate fest (I can only imagine Kevin Hearne is firmly in that camp). The author has spent years building up Atticus as a defender of the planet and a generally wholesome fellow with a good set of moral guidelines. With the addition of perspective from Granuaile (and later on Owen) the author introduced ‘heroes’ that were to be used to emasculate Atticus and serve as a sounding board for the liberal agenda. Since Granuaile’s and Owen’s perspectives were introduced into the writing, Hearne has been setting up Atticus as the demon of the series. It seems Atticus O’Sullivan is the middle aged white male (all that is evil in this world) target of the liberal movement. Hearne takes every opportunity to rail against Atticus and his (perceived) patriarchal, misogynistic ways. The author also uses a number of passages to vilify ‘idiot presidents.’ Just one more thing in a stream of deliberate political pokes. In the end I believe Hearne took great joy in giving Atticus ‘what he deserved.’ I only say the preceding was my biggest gripe because the liberal agenda was thrown in my face so often I couldn’t stop focusing on it which made the read mostly miserable. It turns out this might have been by design in order to cover up the complete lack of attention to storytelling and character nuance. This novel is meant to focus on Ragnarok, the Norse equivalent of Armageddon. Hearne has spent the better part of this series evolving Ragnarok and the events leading up to it. He then proceeds to spend a chapter or two at most setting up and knocking down key events with quick, under-developed resolutions. Meanwhile he sends Granuaile off on a completely random quest which felt utterly contrived and pointless (until you realized it was to setup events and agendas addressed in my preceding paragraph). Owen’s story arc was acceptable and reminiscent of some of Hearne’s previous storytelling, but felt like it was just a bunch of filler only loosely tied to Ragnarok. A new animal friend was introduced in the form of a sloth called “Slo-Mo”. Once again the animal characters are great, but the development for this character and how she was thrust into the story felt contrived as did Owen’s immediate affection for her. ...
liliana mcgeeNic
Ten volumes went too fast. Perhaps we will see a spin-off or two. Mr Hearne knows how to develop characters and draw you in.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
I had a cup of wine with Galileo once. He remains one of the greatest examples of human genius I've ever seen over my twenty-one centuries of life, and one of the bravest. Think of the giant, hairy stones he must have had to stand up to the Catholic Church back when they routinely toppled monarchs and killed people for the glory of their god (who let me buy him a shot of whiskey in Arizona once, by the way, and who did not feel particularly glorified by any murders, let alone the ones committed in his name). To look at the whole of Christendom and call bullshit on their geocentrism despite their threats took some iron guts. And he didn't give a damn that nobody wanted to believe him at first. "I have math," he told me over the rim of his cup. He gestured to it as he spoke. "And the numbers are like this fine vintage we are enjoying. Verifiable, observable, existing independent of us, and caring not one whit about human faith."
Stellar guy, that Galileo! Ha! My puns remain execrable, alas.
Eventually the Church had to admit that Galileo was right-and admit also, long after his death, that his life and work had been a fulcrum on which the world pivoted. The flourishing of the sciences that used his methods brought many wonders to humanity. Many evils too.
I am beginning to wonder now if I might not also be such a fulcrum for good and evil, even if I have labored to remain anonymous. I have endeavored for much of my long life to keep myself out of histories, all the while putting more and more history behind me. For much of my two-thousand-plus years, I did not feel I was building to some grand climax or accomplishing anything but my continued survival, but recent events have caused me to reevaluate.
According to a nightmarish visit from the Morrigan, Ragnarok will begin in the next few days, and it won't end well for anyone, because apocalypses tend not to include happy endings. Perhaps I can still do something to minimize the damage; no matter what I do, though, it cannot erase the fact that it wouldn't be happening at all had I not slain the Norns and unchained the Norse pantheon from their destinies. I am almost entirely to blame, and the guilt is already a nine-ton albatross about my neck. I don't think I'm going to get an easy gig afterward like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner did either. Telling your tale to random wedding guests is a pretty mild punishment for economy-size cockups.
It is fortunate that I have a friend able to shoulder such burdens and make me forget for a while that they are there.
Oberon said as he placed his paws against a bound tree in Tasmania prior to shifting home to Oregon. My Irish wolfhound was expecting a proper feast before I went off to battle gods and monsters and assorted demons from the world's pantheons, and he'd challenged me to supply a meat bar for him, Orlaith, and Starbuck, our new Boston terrier, in the style of salad bar buffets. We'd adopted Starbuck during a stint of crime-fighting in Portland that Oberon pompously called "The Case of the Purloined Poodle."
"The five meat categories will be represented," I assured him.
"Of course. Didn't you have a maxim about this?"
"Uh . . . I think you're misquoting, Oberon. It's supposed to be ‘to each according to his need.' "
Choosing to keep Oberon carefully insulated from double entendres has proven to be endlessly entertaining. "An excellent job too. It can't possibly be interpreted to mean anything else but what you meant. Here we go."
I shifted us home to our cabin near the McKenzie River in the Willamette National Forest, and Oberon immediately shouted mentally to the other hounds once we arrived.
Starbuck's higher-pitched voice replied immediately with his limited vocabulary. he said.
Orlaith added, and both of them exploded through the doggie door to greet us, Orlaith trailing behind because she was very pregnant and close to delivering.
I had to spend a while getting slobbered on and trying to satisfy three dogs with only two hands while they demanded details on the meat and gravy bar. I confessed that I didn't have sufficient information to provide details.
Oberon was incredulous.
"All the meats? Oberon, that's impossible."
"It is. At least in the time I have allotted to me. Maybe it could be a squad goal for later. But right now we have to limit ourselves to what we can pick up in Eugene. Is Earnest here?"
Earnest Goggins-Smythe was our live-in dogsitter, whom we'd been depending on rather heavily in the past few weeks, especially as Orlaith's delivery approached. He had a standard poodle named Jack and a boxer named Algernon, or Algy for short, and they'd remained ins...
I had a cup of wine with Galileo once. He remains one of the greatest examples of human genius I've ever seen over my twenty-one centuries of life, and one of the bravest. Think of the giant, hairy stones he must have had to stand up to the Catholic Church back when they routinely toppled monarchs and killed people for the glory of their god (who let me buy him a shot of whiskey in Arizona once, by the way, and who did not feel particularly glorified by any murders, let alone the ones committed in his name). To look at the whole of Christendom and call bullshit on their geocentrism despite their threats took some iron guts. And he didn't give a damn that nobody wanted to believe him at first. "I have math," he told me over the rim of his cup. He gestured to it as he spoke. "And the numbers are like this fine vintage we are enjoying. Verifiable, observable, existing independent of us, and caring not one whit about human faith."
Stellar guy, that Galileo! Ha! My puns remain execrable, alas.
Eventually the Church had to admit that Galileo was right-and admit also, long after his death, that his life and work had been a fulcrum on which the world pivoted. The flourishing of the sciences that used his methods brought many wonders to humanity. Many evils too.
I am beginning to wonder now if I might not also be such a fulcrum for good and evil, even if I have labored to remain anonymous. I have endeavored for much of my long life to keep myself out of histories, all the while putting more and more history behind me. For much of my two-thousand-plus years, I did not feel I was building to some grand climax or accomplishing anything but my continued survival, but recent events have caused me to reevaluate.
According to a nightmarish visit from the Morrigan, Ragnarok will begin in the next few days, and it won't end well for anyone, because apocalypses tend not to include happy endings. Perhaps I can still do something to minimize the damage; no matter what I do, though, it cannot erase the fact that it wouldn't be happening at all had I not slain the Norns and unchained the Norse pantheon from their destinies. I am almost entirely to blame, and the guilt is already a nine-ton albatross about my neck. I don't think I'm going to get an easy gig afterward like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner did either. Telling your tale to random wedding guests is a pretty mild punishment for economy-size cockups.
It is fortunate that I have a friend able to shoulder such burdens and make me forget for a while that they are there.
Oberon said as he placed his paws against a bound tree in Tasmania prior to shifting home to Oregon. My Irish wolfhound was expecting a proper feast before I went off to battle gods and monsters and assorted demons from the world's pantheons, and he'd challenged me to supply a meat bar for him, Orlaith, and Starbuck, our new Boston terrier, in the style of salad bar buffets. We'd adopted Starbuck during a stint of crime-fighting in Portland that Oberon pompously called "The Case of the Purloined Poodle."
"The five meat categories will be represented," I assured him.
"Of course. Didn't you have a maxim about this?"
"Uh . . . I think you're misquoting, Oberon. It's supposed to be ‘to each according to his need.' "
Choosing to keep Oberon carefully insulated from double entendres has proven to be endlessly entertaining. "An excellent job too. It can't possibly be interpreted to mean anything else but what you meant. Here we go."
I shifted us home to our cabin near the McKenzie River in the Willamette National Forest, and Oberon immediately shouted mentally to the other hounds once we arrived.
Starbuck's higher-pitched voice replied immediately with his limited vocabulary. he said.
Orlaith added, and both of them exploded through the doggie door to greet us, Orlaith trailing behind because she was very pregnant and close to delivering.
I had to spend a while getting slobbered on and trying to satisfy three dogs with only two hands while they demanded details on the meat and gravy bar. I confessed that I didn't have sufficient information to provide details.
Oberon was incredulous.
"All the meats? Oberon, that's impossible."
"It is. At least in the time I have allotted to me. Maybe it could be a squad goal for later. But right now we have to limit ourselves to what we can pick up in Eugene. Is Earnest here?"
Earnest Goggins-Smythe was our live-in dogsitter, whom we'd been depending on rather heavily in the past few weeks, especially as Orlaith's delivery approached. He had a standard poodle named Jack and a boxer named Algernon, or Algy for short, and they'd remained ins...
