Vyrkarion: The Talisman of Anor: Chronicles of the Karionin, cartea 03
Autor J. A. Cullumen Limba Engleză Paperback – 22 sep 2013
The living crystals, karionin, have been searching for young wizards capable of attuning themselves to the magic of the stones.
Now, in this third and final book of the trilogy, will Jerevan Rayne, who was cursed at a young age to be a wizard, meet his match in Alanna Cairn, who, with almost no training, bears the crystal Vyrkarion? Jerevan knows he must train her, but she wants nothing to do with him.
Will the prophecy that says “the king will die, a god-king take his place, and a child will need to be saved,” come true?
Will Aavik, the ruler of the lizard folk, who wants Vyrkarion for himself, find that corruption in the capitol benefits his goal?
And will Rhys Cinnac, the halfbreed who was cursed by a god to madness, take the throne?
Read Vyrkarion: The Talisman of Anor to find out who kills the king, who’s imprisoned in the Black Tower, who’s kidnapped, amd who escapes.
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781770530287
ISBN-10: 1770530282
Pagini: 255
Dimensiuni: 155 x 228 x 18 mm
Greutate: 0.3 kg
Editura: Hades Publications
Seria Chronicles of the Karionin
ISBN-10: 1770530282
Pagini: 255
Dimensiuni: 155 x 228 x 18 mm
Greutate: 0.3 kg
Editura: Hades Publications
Seria Chronicles of the Karionin
Recenzii
Praise for Lyskarion:
"Cullum takes a hard look at the results and the high price of ignorance, bigotry, and ethnocentrism in a thoughtful novel with an unusual piece of magic at the center of its story-a curse...placed on the protagonist to "help" him see reason. Great fantasy with a conscience." -Paula Luedtke, Booklist Praise for Cinkarion:
"...This book should appeal to the fantasy reader who enjoys sweeping and complicated plots, battles, rescues, and other events spurred on by the practitioners of magic. Recommended..." — Ronald Hore, CM Magazine
Notă biografică
J. A. Cullum is the author of “The Karionin Chronicles”. As a child, she could read and write by the age of four. Her major writing influences can be traced back to her father’s “stacks” — a collection of nearly two tons of science fiction and fantasy magazines — including works by Leigh Brackett, C. L. Moore and Poul Anderson. Cullum currently lives in Trinity County, California.
Extras
Prologue:
Inanda sat on Lutra’s harbor wall, squinting in the glare from the ripe orange sun that, snared in the rigging of the ships, sank toward the sea. Her silver hair, thick and coarse, was pulled back in a braid that hung down her back to her knees. Her face was creased with wrinkles, like mud dried and cracked in the sun, her skin the color of teak, but her eyes were bright blue, her body still pliant as a girl’s.
It was spring, the month of Ingvash when the ice breaks in the rivers of the north and the fishes called inglings die in their thousands and hundreds of thousands on the beaches. More, it was the first sunny day after a season of storms. The warmth, the blue sky and the lure of the sea had brought her to the harbor. Inanda loved watching the ships: galleons and frigates, schooners and caravels from all over Tamar, for Lutra was the second largest port in Ilwheirlane.
Over a hundred ships lay at anchor in the harbor or tied in the slips between the piers. Near Inanda’s perch on the seawall stevedores unloaded a fourmasted bark from Kailane full of bales of cotton for the cloth mills of Corin or Irthing. In the next slip a sleek schooner from the Isle of Sussey disgorged a cargo of oranges, lomcans, limes and barrels of wine. The sharp, citrus scent of the fruit mingled headily with the brackish smell of the sea. Inanda eyed the stocky crewmen. She wondered how it felt to change one’s form whenever one wished, as many of the people of Sussey could do, and become a dolphin at ease in the sea.
Inanda’s idle thoughts changed when she felt the stirring in her mind, the first sign of a vision to come. Her white robe marked her as one of the Kindred of Maera, but she was more, a sibyl chosen by the deity. Thus, when she felt the sense that was not quite pain but the warning of pain to come, she climbed down off the wall. She hoped to reach the Sanctuary of Maera before the sight came fully on her.
Although it was late afternoon, the area was still crowded. Merchants packed away receipts and bills of lading, and stevedores loaded or unloaded wagons. Inanda crossed the road through a gap in the line of vehicles and found herself in a square fronting the harbor.
The pressure in her head was building rapidly. Inanda paused as a group of young men pushed past, full of high spirits, come to mix with seamen in the dockside taverns. She could not make it to the Sanctuary; she had to rest. She wove her way through the crowd to a bench near the center of the square.
The pain grew. The color of health faded from her face, leaving her wrinkled skin the shade of ashes. A woman paused to ask if she were all right. Inanda gestured the stranger away. Speech was beyond her now.
The pressure built until it broke through her mind’s instinctive defense. Then she saw, as Maera willed her to see, without the barriers of time and space, the unraveling threads of fate.