Review
David Burrows’s interest in fantasy began with The Lord of the Rings. Inspired by the epic tale he put pen to paper, determined to create a story with bold characters and an intriguing plot. In Legacy of the Eldric he has certainly achieved his aim; the characters are memorable and the plot is fast-paced and exciting. It is an opening chapter in a series that I look forward to reading the mid and end parts to. This is solid fantasy; exactly what a fantasy doctor would order for those looking for an enjoyable escape from reality… fans of Tolkien, Hobb and Moorcock will love what they find here. Definitely recommended. (8/10 stars), http://www.fantasybookreview.co.uk/David-Burrows/Legacy-of-the-Eldric.html/
Product Description
Vastra is a man possessed. Where other men require food to sustain them, his craving is for power. He seeks an Eldric talisman, ensnaring two men to aid him. Fate guides his hand and, unwittingly, he chooses Kaplyn, who is seeking to escape his own destiny and Lars, shipwrecked and friendless, an outcast on the Allund shore. An unlikely trio, they form a fragile alliance but, recklessly ambitious, Vastra will betray them in a heartbeat. Throughout their journey, there are clear signs that demons are active, stealing souls and slaking their unholy hunger. Their journey takes them to a mysterious tower, beset by traps, where Kaplyn triggers a chain of events unleashing the full power of a prophecy that could doom them all. Deep in the heart of a mountain lays a power that not even Vastra has the audacity to envision. But who really is guiding Vastra’s destiny? Kaplyn has the talisman and, for all of Vastra’s threats, he is unwilling to part with it.
Prologue.
“Lay the body there,” Chanathan said pointing.
The three men carrying the corpse dropped their burden with a meaty thud to the forest carpet. The men looked disgusted by their task. An owl hooted and one of the men looked around, fear glinting in his eyes as he scanned the hidden recesses between the trees.
“It’s an owl,” one of his companions said. Chanathan could hear the tenderness in the voice. Only months ago the sight of another man’s fear would have elicited sarcasm or even bullying, but after the recent horrors there was a greater bond between these men. Battle brothers was a common enough expression, but only men who had stood shoulder to shoulder in the darkest moments of combat truly understood what that meant, men who had felt blood splash their hands and blades and experienced the pervading stench of blood, sweat and steel in their nostrils. That was how such close bonds were forged.
Chanathan stepped up to the corpse and spat in its eyes. The body was that of a man in his thirties. He wore a robe whose colour in the dark of the forest was difficult to decide. It did nothing, though, to conceal the bloodstain that marked the deep wound that had killed him.
Chanathan turned on his heel. Coming between the trees in file were others who had fought demons only hours before. It had been close, but Drachar’s death had finished the bloody conflict and even now, men of the alliance were hunting down the enemy as they sought to escape. Many of the approaching men were sorcerers and all were clearly bone tired, stumbling as they came into the clearing. Even though they were exhausted Chanathan knew that one final act was required to guarantee an end to the bloody war.
Ashona approached Chanathan. She looked close to tears, and Chanathan felt pity overwhelm him. His own tears threatened and he choked down his emotions, but could not stop himself from taking her hand. Victory felt so very hollow, not at all how he had imagined it to be so many months ago — death still befouled his mind like a toxin.
Prologue.
“Lay the body there,” Chanathan said pointing.
The three men carrying the corpse dropped their burden with a meaty thud to the forest carpet. The men looked disgusted by their task. An owl hooted and one of the men looked around, fear glinting in his eyes as he scanned the hidden recesses between the trees.
“It’s an owl,” one of his companions said. Chanathan could hear the tenderness in the voice. Only months ago the sight of another man’s fear would have elicited sarcasm or even bullying, but after the recent horrors there was a greater bond between these men. Battle brothers was a common enough expression, but only men who had stood shoulder to shoulder in the darkest moments of combat truly understood what that meant, men who had felt blood splash their hands and blades and experienced the pervading stench of blood, sweat and steel in their nostrils. That was how such close bonds were forged.
Chanathan stepped up to the corpse and spat in its eyes. The body was that of a man in his thirties. He wore a robe whose colour in the dark of the forest was difficult to decide. It did nothing, though, to conceal the bloodstain that marked the deep wound that had killed him.
Chanathan turned on his heel. Coming between the trees in file were others who had fought demons only hours before. It had been close, but Drachar’s death had finished the bloody conflict and even now, men of the alliance were hunting down the enemy as they sought to escape. Many of the approaching men were sorcerers and all were clearly bone tired, stumbling as they came into the clearing. Even though they were exhausted Chanathan knew that one final act was required to guarantee an end to the bloody war.
Ashona approached Chanathan. She looked close to tears, and Chanathan felt pity overwhelm him. His own tears threatened and he choked down his emotions, but could not stop himself from taking her hand. Victory felt so very hollow, not at all how he had imagined it to be so many months ago — death still befouled his mind like a toxin.
