The Dragon Revenant

Zusatztext "No one does real! live! gritty Celtic fantasy better than Katharine Kerr." --Judith Tarr Informationen zum Autor Katharine Kerr Klappentext For years the provinces of Deverry have been in turmoil; now the conflict escalates with the kidnapping of Rhodry Maelwaedd, heir to the throne of Aberwyn. Intent on rescuing him, his beloved Jill and the elven wizard Salamander infiltrate the distant land of Bardex, where Rhodry is held captive. Tied to Deverry by obligation and circumstance, the immortal wizard Nevyn begins to see that all the kingdom's problems can be traced to a single source: a master of dark magics, backed by a network of evil that stretches across the sea. Now Nevyn understands that he too is being lured away to Bardek--and into a subtle, deadly trap designed especially for him. Katharine Kerr's novels of the Kingdom of Deverry unfold in a world of stunning richness and depth. Her vivid portrayal of characters caught in a complex web of fate and magic captures the imagination with a realism that few can match. Now she retums to this enchanted kingdom, where the wheels of destiny are tuming anew.Prologue Eldidd, 1064 Even though dark clouds hung close to earth all day in what might have been either a heavy fog or an outright drizzle, out in the sacred grove beyond the city walls of Aberwyn the ancient oaks glowed with a light of their own, the autumnal splendor of their scarlet and gold leaves. A few sparks of that flame had fluttered down to lie in the muddy grave like golden offerings to match the grave goods already in place, jars and ewers of mead and oil, loaves of bread, a fine sword in a gilded scabbard, pottery statues of the gwerbret's favorite horses, all set around the wickerwork chariot. Although Deverry men had stopped fighting from chariots some thousand years earlier, their memory persisted as a thing belonging to heroes, and great men were buried in them, but lying down, unlike their ancestors, who were sometimes propped up in a parody of action that seemed indecent to Deverrian minds. Lovyan, Tieryn Dun Gwerbyn, regent to the gwerbretrhyn of Aberwyn, stood at the edge of the grave and watched the shaven-headed priests of Bel clambering around in the mud as they laid the body of Rhys Maelwaedd, her eldest son, down for his last rest. By then the rituals were long over, and most of the huge crowd of mourners gone, but she lingered, unable to cry or keen, weary to the very heart, as they arranged his fine plaid, the silver, blue, and green of Aberwyn, around him. Once they began to fill in the grave, she would leave, she decided. She had watched wet earth fall on the faces of other men she had loved, her husband, her second son Aedry, the third son dead in childbirth that they'd never even named; she had no need to watch it again. Beside her Nevyn laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. A tall man, with a shock of white hair and piercing blue eyes, he had skin as wrinkled as one of the fallen leaves and hands spotted all over from age, but he stood as straight and walked as vigorously as a young warrior. Although everyone who knew him considered his energy a marvel, Lovyan was one of the few who knew the truth, that he owed it to the dweomer of light, because he was one of the greatest sorcerers who had ever lived in Deverry. Just lately he had come into her service as a councillor, but in truth, she assumed, she was the one who was serving his particular ends. It mattered not to her, because not only did she trust him, but their particular goals were, at the moment at least, the same. It's cold out here, Your Grace, he said, his voice soft with sympathy. I'm well aware of that, my thanks. We'll be leaving soon. The priests were fastening the enormous golden ring brooch to the plaid and clasping it closed around the dead gwerbret's neck. She looked away and saw two men pus...

"No one does real, live, gritty Celtic fantasy better than Katharine Kerr."
--Judith Tarr

Autorentext
Katharine Kerr

Klappentext
For years the provinces of Deverry have been in turmoil; now the conflict escalates with the kidnapping of Rhodry Maelwaedd, heir to the throne of Aberwyn. Intent on rescuing him, his beloved Jill and the elven wizard Salamander infiltrate the distant land of Bardex, where Rhodry is held captive. Tied to Deverry by obligation and circumstance, the immortal wizard Nevyn begins to see that all the kingdom's problems can be traced to a single source: a master of dark magics, backed by a network of evil that stretches across the sea. Now Nevyn understands that he too is being lured away to Bardek--and into a subtle, deadly trap designed especially for him.

Katharine Kerr's novels of the Kingdom of Deverry unfold in a world of stunning richness and depth. Her vivid portrayal of characters caught in a complex web of fate and magic captures the imagination with a realism that few can match. Now she retums to this enchanted kingdom, where the wheels of destiny are tuming anew.

Leseprobe
Prologue
Eldidd,
1064
 
Even though dark clouds hung close to earth all day in what might have been either a heavy fog or an outright drizzle, out in the sacred grove beyond the city walls of Aberwyn the ancient oaks glowed with a light of their own, the autumnal splendor of their scarlet and gold leaves. A few sparks of that flame had fluttered down to lie in the muddy grave like golden offerings to match the grave goods already in place, jars and ewers of mead and oil, loaves of bread, a fine sword in a gilded scabbard, pottery statues of the gwerbret’s favorite horses, all set around the wickerwork chariot. Although Deverry men had stopped fighting from chariots some thousand years earlier, their memory persisted as a thing belonging to heroes, and great men were buried in them, but lying down, unlike their ancestors, who were sometimes propped up in a parody of action that seemed indecent to Deverrian minds.
 
Lovyan, Tieryn Dun Gwerbyn, regent to the gwerbretrhyn of Aberwyn, stood at the edge of the grave and watched the shaven-headed priests of Bel clambering around in the mud as they laid the body of Rhys Maelwaedd, her eldest son, down for his last rest. By then the rituals were long over, and most of the huge crowd of mourners gone, but she lingered, unable to cry or keen, weary to the very heart, as they arranged his fine plaid, the silver, blue, and green of Aberwyn, around him. Once they began to fill in the grave, she would leave, she decided. She had watched wet earth fall on the faces of other men she had loved, her husband, her second son Aedry, the third son dead in childbirth that they’d never even named; she had no need to watch it again.
 
Beside her Nevyn laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. A tall man, with a shock of white hair and piercing blue eyes, he had skin as wrinkled as one of the fallen leaves and hands spotted all over from age, but he stood as straight and walked as vigorously as a young warrior. Although everyone who knew him considered his energy a marvel, Lovyan was one of the few who knew the truth, that he owed it to the dweomer of light, because he was one of the greatest sorcerers who had ever lived in Deverry. Just lately he had come into her service as a councillor, but in truth, she assumed, she was the one who was serving his particular ends. It mattered not to her, because not only did she trust him, but their particular goals were, at the moment at least, the same.
 
“It’s cold out here, Your Grace,” he said, his voice soft with sympathy.
 
“I’m well aware of that, my thanks. We’ll be leaving soon.”
 
The priests were fastening the enormous golden ring brooch to the plaid and clasping it closed around the dead gwerbret’s neck. She looked away and saw two …

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