Synopsis
The lords have fallen.
It was the war to end all wars.
Violence had plagued the Fractured Kingdoms since the fall of the Old Empire.
But as the generals and the lords died in the Valley of Torglen, the folk looked beyond their allegiances. Beyond their nations.
The bedraggled masses that survived the battle flocked to the nearest town with hopes of a new life.
One in which their rulers remained rotting in the mud.
Brigge led her company of sellswords to foreign lands.
Now she seeks to lead the dispossessed into a new life.
Ebar was forced into duty. Conscripted by the war machine of Volgsland.
Though the war is over, his service is not.
Review
Bloody, muddy, visceral poetry of war’s innate carnage.
If The Scroungers was a movie, its opening credits would fade in against a backdrop of blood-pooled boot prints as they stomped into rancid mud.
The first third of this book reads like a blood soaked 4D virtual reality experience of medieval warfare. Blades and blood come flying at the reader from all angles, bludgeoning, bruising, screaming torturous chaos until the bodies lay still and the carrion come out to eek survival from the ever-altered world.
Devens has an efficiency of words, as if counted by a jaded quarter master before handing them over to face the jagged frontline. Nothing is wasted but everything ends up discarded in the blood-pooled mud.
To any grimdark veteran it seems outlandish to describe the sight of the Dripping Bucket’s swinging sign as a beacon of relief, a haven to rest tired eyes and gored senses but there it is, its familiarity offering a moment of calm albeit brief and dour as the remnants of futile war gather clutching their prejudices and forced perspectives into the infamously titled inn.
It is here we are introduced to Enid the Blight, a genius reference that had me smiling from ear to ear. Devens’ timing is perfect: the trauma of war, the futility of fighting to the bloody death for the arrogant nobility, the coming together of the people and their questions. The Dripping Bucket sets the pace for the changing of the guard, the switch of old allegiances and the realisation of the victims of war.
“Some of the greyness of Bright Hollow retreated beneath the radiance of the sun. It did nothing for the stench, nor the filth for that matter.”
The story is not just about war, however.
Once the riotous calamity comes to a halt. Once the lords are slain and the survivors left flagless and wandering, bumping into each other with residuous hate, the dust and fury starts to settle. After an incredibly frenetic parallel of a night in the Bucket and the raucous shedding of old allegiances, the dust finally settles and reveals, through its blanket of woe, a new trail of bodies.
“The Volgish captain looked down at the corpse in the alley. Beside her stood the slack-jawed soldier. He didn’t look like much, just another of the unfortunates forced into the war, like Lona herself. But she had seen him kill a sorcerer without a second’s hesitation just the night before.”
Devens does a remarkable job of herding these disparate characters to the singular goal of rebuilding, forming new bonds and expressing those that remain stoically toxic. This aftermath is expertly curated and provides the perfect, ragged backdrop for the second, or maybe third act… whodunnit?
Grimdark with a sulphurous whiff of military horror, the town begins to cringe as a killer roams the streets. It is here we’re offered a peacetime window into the nature and nurture of these war bedraggled characters. Each of them carries disdain and bloody heritage like a blade on their hip, but each of them feels the approaching killer with a tickling spine.
“Another dawn, the sun’s rising blotted out by grey clouds and the haze of filth. Scum wandered the streets, content to dwell within their own disgusting stupors. The very sight of them made Danoch’s stomach churn.”
As the grizzled threads of this story mat together into a climax of bloodshed, horror, and filthy vengeance, Deven’s characters remain stoic in their motivations. Some forming bonds, giving us the classic fantasy hit we all need once in a while, while some go rogue, satisfying our more base, rebellious natures. In the end I got what I wanted and more from this scum-ridden delve into the world of The Scroungers, and I urge you to follow me into its wake… but maybe wash your hands on the way out.
Leave a Reply