Lord John Aversin--with the help of his mageborn wife, Jenny Waynest-- has fought and defeated two dragons, earning the title of Dragonsbane. But there are creatures more terrifying than dragons. Demonspawn from a dark dimension have learned to drink the magic--and the souls--of mages and dragons alike, turning their victims into empty vessels. And now they've stolen John and Jenny's mageborn son, twelve-year-old Ian.
In desperation, John seeks the help of the eldest and strongest dragon: Morkeleb the Black. But the demons have allies, too: a vast army poised to plunge the Realm into civil war. In the coming struggle, Morkeleb will sacrifice what he values most. Jenny will question everything she trusts and believes in. And John will embark on a perilous quest for the only things capable of defeating such powerful demons--even more powerful demons . . .
From the Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: Dragonshadow|
|Release Date: 07-22-2009|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Random House Publishing Group|
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Dragonsbane, they called him.
Slayer of dragons.
Or a dragon, anyway. And, he'd later found out, not such a very big one at that.
Lord John Aversin, Thane of the Winterlands, leaned back in the mended oak chair in his library as the messenger's footfalls retreated down the tower stairs, and looked across at Jenny Waynest, who was curled up on the windowsill with a cat dozing in her lap.
"Bugger," he said.
The night's first appreciable breeze-warm and sticky as such things were in the Winterlands in summer-brought the grit of woodsmoke through the open window and made the candle flames shudder among the heaped books.
"A hundred feet long," Jenny murmured.
John shook his head. "Gaw, any dragon looks a hundred feet long if you're under it." He pushed his round-lensed spectacles more firmly onto the bridge of his long nose. "Or in a position where you have to think about bein' under it in the near future. I doubt it's over fifty. That one we slew over by Far West Riding wasn't quite thirty ..." He nodded to the cold fireplace, where the black spiked mace of the golden dragon's tail-tip hung. "And Morkeleb the Black was forty-two, though I thought he'd whack me over the back of the head when I asked could I measure him." He grinned at the memory, but behind the spectacles Jenny could see the fear in his eyes.
Almost as an afterthought he added, "We'll have to go after it."
Jenny stroked the cat's head. "Yes." Her voice was inaudible. The cat purred and made bread o