Carsten
Justice of Kings suffers, at least in my case, from “comparison”. Let me explain...
I picked up Richard Swan's novel after seeing it compared to Malazan. That immediately created a certain expectation: a vast world, multiple converging storylines, layers upon layers of politics, history, and mythology. For much of the book, I kept waiting for that version of Justice of Kings to arrive. It never really did.
And that realization turned out to be the key to appreciating what the novel actually is.
The first hundred pages were not an entirely comfortable experience. Swan introduces Justice Sir Konrad Vonvalt, his clerk Helena Sedanka, and a handful of supporting characters, but the larger shape of the story remains frustratingly elusive. There are murders to investigate, disputes to settle, and mysteries to unravel, yet there is little indication of where any of it is leading. Around the eighty-page mark, I found myself wondering whether the entire novel was simply going to be a fantasy police procedural. Not that there would be anything wrong with that.
The problem was less the story itself than the mismatch between expectation and reality. Every time another clue was examined or another witness questioned, I found myself looking beyond the immediate mystery, searching for signs of a larger narrative. An assassination attempt finally injected some urgency into the proceedings, and the question of who would dare target a Justice gave the story a welcome sense of momentum. But even then, it remained fundamentally an investigation.
Only around the middle of the novel did the pieces begin to click into place. The murders stop being isolated crimes and become symptoms of something larger. Political factions emerge from the background. Religious tensions gain significance. The stability of the Empire itself starts to feel uncertain. What initially seemed like a local criminal investigation gradually reveals itself as an entry point into a much broader conflict.
The expansion works, mostly. There is a genuine sense of satisfaction when the novel finally widens its focus and shows how the various threads connect. Yet I could never completely shake the feeling that this transformation arrives rather late. For over half the book, Swan trains the reader to think small before asking them to think big. The transition is interesting, but not entirely seamless. What kept me turning pages throughout was the quality of the writing itself. Swan's prose occupies a sweet spot. It is accessible without feeling simplistic, clear without becoming sterile. The story moves easily, and even during the slower investigative sections I rarely felt that I was fighting the text. There is a confidence to the storytelling that allows complex political and legal discussions to remain engaging.
Perhaps the best compliment I can give is that the book never felt mechanical. Something I can't stand in modern fantasy books is that they often resemble an engineering project: carefully constructed, perfectly functional, and emotionally inert. Justice of Kings avoids that trap. The characters feel human. The world feels lived in. Events unfold with enough unpredictability that I was repeatedly caught off guard. Nowhere was this more apparent than when Swan began introducing the darker supernatural elements lurking beneath the surface of the setting. One necromantic sequence in particular completely changed my perception of the novel. Up to that point, the world had felt relatively grounded despite its fantasy trappings. Suddenly there were ghosts. Demons. Questions about the afterlife. Questions about what justice even means in a world where the dead can speak. It was exactly the kind of development I had been hoping for. The supernatural layer does not simply add spectacle; it adds depth. It transforms the story from a political mystery into something more unsettling. The Empire's legal system is no longer merely an institution. It becomes part of a world governed by forces far older and stranger than human law.
The book is at its strongest when these elements intersect.
The most memorable moments are not the revelations of conspiracy but the moments when justice itself becomes uncomfortable to witness. A particularly gruesome execution scene affected me more than I expected. Likewise, the raid on the city Vale and the deaths that follow landed with genuine emotional force. I rarely saw those developments coming, and the resulting sense of outrage felt entirely earned. As a reader, I found myself protesting the unfairness of what was happening. That reaction says something important about Swan's strengths as a writer. It is easy to shock readers. It is harder to make them care enough to feel personally offended by an injustice. The novel succeeds because it invests enough time in its characters and relationships that the violence carries emotional weight rather than serving as mere spectacle.
Which brings me to Justice Vonvalt. For most of the novel, he appears almost larger than life: wise, capable, morally certain, and empowered by authority both legal and supernatural. Yet by the end, that image has begun to fracture. The final developments suggest a far more complicated future for the character than the opening chapters would have led me to expect.
In some ways, the ending encapsulates my entire experience with the book. Just when I thought the story was reaching its conclusion, Swan opens a door to something entirely different. The book ends not with resolution but with possibility. I put it down feeling slightly disoriented, uncertain whether I had just finished a complete story or merely the first act of a much larger one. Perhaps that uncertainty explains my mixed feelings.
Justice of Kings never became the sprawling fantasy epic I initially wanted it to be. Even after four hundred pages, it remains comparatively narrow in scope and largely follows a single central storyline. Readers arriving with expectations of Erikson-like density may experience the same frustration I did. Yet judging the novel on its own terms feels much fairer. What Swan has written is a compelling blend of legal thriller, political intrigue, dark fantasy, and character study. It takes its time revealing its ambitions, occasionally perhaps too much time, but when it finally shows its hand the result is intriguing enough that I want to continue. I finished the book with reservations. I also finished it curious. And curiosity, more than enthusiasm, is often the stronger reason to pick up the sequel.
Rating: 6.7/10
Justice of Kings suffers, at least in my case, from “comparison”. Let me explain...
I picked up Richard Swan's novel after seeing it compared to Malazan. That immediately created a certain expectation: a vast world, multiple converging storylines, layers upon layers of politics, history, and mythology. For much of the book, I kept waiting for that version of Justice of Kings to arrive. It never really did.
And that realization turned out to be the key to appreciating what the novel actually is.
The first hundred pages were not an entirely comfortable experience. Swan introduces Justice Sir Konrad Vonvalt, his clerk Helena Sedanka, and a handful of supporting characters, but the larger shape of the story remains frustratingly elusive. There are murders to investigate, disputes to settle, and mysteries to unravel, yet there is little indication of where any of it is leading. Around the eighty-page mark, I found myself wondering whether the entire novel was simply going to be a fantasy police procedural. Not that there would be anything wrong with that.
The problem was less the story itself than the mismatch between expectation and reality. Every time another clue was examined or another witness questioned, I found myself looking beyond the immediate mystery, searching for signs of a larger narrative. An assassination attempt finally injected some urgency into the proceedings, and the question of who would dare target a Justice gave the story a welcome sense of momentum. But even then, it remained fundamentally an investigation.
Only around the middle of the novel did the pieces begin to click into place. The murders stop being isolated crimes and become symptoms of something larger. Political factions emerge from the background. Religious tensions gain significance. The stability of the Empire itself starts to feel uncertain. What initially seemed like a local criminal investigation gradually reveals itself as an entry point into a much broader conflict.
The expansion works, mostly. There is a genuine sense of satisfaction when the novel finally widens its focus and shows how the various threads connect. Yet I could never completely shake the feeling that this transformation arrives rather late. For over half the book, Swan trains the reader to think small before asking them to think big. The transition is interesting, but not entirely seamless. What kept me turning pages throughout was the quality of the writing itself. Swan's prose occupies a sweet spot. It is accessible without feeling simplistic, clear without becoming sterile. The story moves easily, and even during the slower investigative sections I rarely felt that I was fighting the text. There is a confidence to the storytelling that allows complex political and legal discussions to remain engaging.
Perhaps the best compliment I can give is that the book never felt mechanical. Something I can't stand in modern fantasy books is that they often resemble an engineering project: carefully constructed, perfectly functional, and emotionally inert. Justice of Kings avoids that trap. The characters feel human. The world feels lived in. Events unfold with enough unpredictability that I was repeatedly caught off guard. Nowhere was this more apparent than when Swan began introducing the darker supernatural elements lurking beneath the surface of the setting. One necromantic sequence in particular completely changed my perception of the novel. Up to that point, the world had felt relatively grounded despite its fantasy trappings. Suddenly there were ghosts. Demons. Questions about the afterlife. Questions about what justice even means in a world where the dead can speak. It was exactly the kind of development I had been hoping for. The supernatural layer does not simply add spectacle; it adds depth. It transforms the story from a political mystery into something more unsettling. The Empire's legal system is no longer merely an institution. It becomes part of a world governed by forces far older and stranger than human law.
The book is at its strongest when these elements intersect.
The most memorable moments are not the revelations of conspiracy but the moments when justice itself becomes uncomfortable to witness. A particularly gruesome execution scene affected me more than I expected. Likewise, the raid on the city Vale and the deaths that follow landed with genuine emotional force. I rarely saw those developments coming, and the resulting sense of outrage felt entirely earned. As a reader, I found myself protesting the unfairness of what was happening. That reaction says something important about Swan's strengths as a writer. It is easy to shock readers. It is harder to make them care enough to feel personally offended by an injustice. The novel succeeds because it invests enough time in its characters and relationships that the violence carries emotional weight rather than serving as mere spectacle.
Which brings me to Justice Vonvalt. For most of the novel, he appears almost larger than life: wise, capable, morally certain, and empowered by authority both legal and supernatural. Yet by the end, that image has begun to fracture. The final developments suggest a far more complicated future for the character than the opening chapters would have led me to expect.
In some ways, the ending encapsulates my entire experience with the book. Just when I thought the story was reaching its conclusion, Swan opens a door to something entirely different. The book ends not with resolution but with possibility. I put it down feeling slightly disoriented, uncertain whether I had just finished a complete story or merely the first act of a much larger one. Perhaps that uncertainty explains my mixed feelings.
Justice of Kings never became the sprawling fantasy epic I initially wanted it to be. Even after four hundred pages, it remains comparatively narrow in scope and largely follows a single central storyline. Readers arriving with expectations of Erikson-like density may experience the same frustration I did. Yet judging the novel on its own terms feels much fairer. What Swan has written is a compelling blend of legal thriller, political intrigue, dark fantasy, and character study. It takes its time revealing its ambitions, occasionally perhaps too much time, but when it finally shows its hand the result is intriguing enough that I want to continue. I finished the book with reservations. I also finished it curious. And curiosity, more than enthusiasm, is often the stronger reason to pick up the sequel.
Rating: 6.7/10