Review
Tumarl is an excellent addition to the already strong cast but the most outstanding moment of the book was the long and brutal battle of CarCamel. The author impressed here as he focused as much on the little man as the hero. The narrative cleverly switched between many characters as the battle waged on and we experience death and loss, bravery and cowardice through the eyes of many differing people. Dragon Rider moves the story along well and brings the story to a very interesting knife's edge. This novel will whet the appetite nicely for the conclusion in Shadow of the Demon. (8 of 10 Stars), http://www.fantasybookreview.co.uk/David-Burrows/Dragon-Rider.html/
Product Description
Armies are gathering but Astalus, the Thracian court wizard, is in a quandary as to who to trust. Shocking news has arrived from an unlikely source. A spy, arrested brazenly entering the city, claims to be a prince from an extinct royal household, a household that was overthrown, the family members murdered over sixty years ago. Intriguingly, the spy’s claim to be from Allund is more than a coincidence, for the army marching against them is also from Allund. Who indeed to trust? The stranger brings with him news of an army from Trosgarth, which can only mean one thing. Drachar’s shade has been summoned and the Prophecy is coming to pass. Old alliances are broken and many monarchs slain. No sign yet exists of the king predicted by the Prophecy, who will save them all. Astalus, normally so certain and confident, is suddenly plummeted into his worst nightmare, for soon Thrace could be threatened by demons and, against them, there is no salvation. In a land fraught with betrayal, fear and death, the shadows are deepening.
Prologue
A cloaked figure, garbed in black with a hood drawn across its eyes, stared around at the cave. It was warm and dry, ideal for the Ritual. Black boots crushed the dry leaves that carpeted the cavern floor. The torrent outside continued as though even the Gods wept. His yellow eyes glinting feverishly; he beckoned to his companion, his hands almost claw-like with long dirt-brown nails. Another cloaked figure entered the cave, taller and broader than the first man. Behind him came a third figure, shorter, more youthful, eyes flickering about the cave in mistrust.
“Come, come,” said the first man, waving his arm impatiently. His frown suggested he was not a patient man. “We must hurry if we are to perform the Ritual before dawn. Darren, do not be a slouch and hurry up.”
The youth paused, anger flashing in his eyes. “Kryan, do not take that tone with me. I volunteered for this, remember.”
Kryan tried to conceal his smile. Since when did a four year old boy volunteer? That was Darren’s age when he was snatched from his village ten years ago and, since then, the boy’s training had been intense. But whatever was certain, he was no volunteer.
Gallan was reverently placing candles about the cave. The big man’s frown was one of intense concentration. Soon a gentle light illuminated the interior revealing scar-ravaged walls, boulders strewn about the cavern floor and dark, sinister looking recesses where even the light seemed afraid to penetrate.
Kryan liked Gallan; he was the silent type who just got on with jobs. He hated people who blathered, especially those with nothing much to say. Kryan breathed in the dry air, scenting the years of accumulated dust. The cave was ancient, just what they needed to summon the spirits of the dead. Kryan turned just as Gallan was handing him a knife. The weapon was silver and the hilt inlaid with gold wire. An expensive item, but Ryoch demanded no less. Kryan took the weapon and turned to Darrell.
Darrell was shaking and his brown eyes looked uncertain. His earlier bravado was gone and he now looked his fourteen years.
“Your shaol is strong, Darrell. You do not need to be afraid,” Kryan said with just a hint of condemnation in his voice, deliberately bridling the younger man.
Darrell’s fear vanished and anger blossomed behind his eyes. “I told you, old man,” he sneered. “Watch your tone or it will be you lying on the ground and not I.”
Inside Kryan laughed. He cast Gallan a look and saw that the other man understood. Darrell’s training had been superb; arrogance would force him to do what they wanted. Arrogance and the belief in Ryoch, his god.
“My apologies, Darrell. You are correct, and I have overstepped myself. Now come here and kneel,” Kryan said, bowing ever so slightly in mock respect.
Darrell’s eyes hardened and Kryan sensed his growing rebellion.
Prologue
A cloaked figure, garbed in black with a hood drawn across its eyes, stared around at the cave. It was warm and dry, ideal for the Ritual. Black boots crushed the dry leaves that carpeted the cavern floor. The torrent outside continued as though even the Gods wept. His yellow eyes glinting feverishly; he beckoned to his companion, his hands almost claw-like with long dirt-brown nails. Another cloaked figure entered the cave, taller and broader than the first man. Behind him came a third figure, shorter, more youthful, eyes flickering about the cave in mistrust.
“Come, come,” said the first man, waving his arm impatiently. His frown suggested he was not a patient man. “We must hurry if we are to perform the Ritual before dawn. Darren, do not be a slouch and hurry up.”
The youth paused, anger flashing in his eyes. “Kryan, do not take that tone with me. I volunteered for this, remember.”
Kryan tried to conceal his smile. Since when did a four year old boy volunteer? That was Darren’s age when he was snatched from his village ten years ago and, since then, the boy’s training had been intense. But whatever was certain, he was no volunteer.
Gallan was reverently placing candles about the cave. The big man’s frown was one of intense concentration. Soon a gentle light illuminated the interior revealing scar-ravaged walls, boulders strewn about the cavern floor and dark, sinister looking recesses where even the light seemed afraid to penetrate.
Kryan liked Gallan; he was the silent type who just got on with jobs. He hated people who blathered, especially those with nothing much to say. Kryan breathed in the dry air, scenting the years of accumulated dust. The cave was ancient, just what they needed to summon the spirits of the dead. Kryan turned just as Gallan was handing him a knife. The weapon was silver and the hilt inlaid with gold wire. An expensive item, but Ryoch demanded no less. Kryan took the weapon and turned to Darrell.
Darrell was shaking and his brown eyes looked uncertain. His earlier bravado was gone and he now looked his fourteen years.
“Your shaol is strong, Darrell. You do not need to be afraid,” Kryan said with just a hint of condemnation in his voice, deliberately bridling the younger man.
Darrell’s fear vanished and anger blossomed behind his eyes. “I told you, old man,” he sneered. “Watch your tone or it will be you lying on the ground and not I.”
Inside Kryan laughed. He cast Gallan a look and saw that the other man understood. Darrell’s training had been superb; arrogance would force him to do what they wanted. Arrogance and the belief in Ryoch, his god.
“My apologies, Darrell. You are correct, and I have overstepped myself. Now come here and kneel,” Kryan said, bowing ever so slightly in mock respect.
Darrell’s eyes hardened and Kryan sensed his growing rebellion.
