The Pale King has been defeated, his legions decimated. The Dark God Mohg has been destroyed. And the evil corporation, Duratek, has been disbanded, foiled in its efforts to strip-mine the world of Eldh. And for our heroes, three years have passed in relative peace. But only relative, because every one of them know in their hearts that their duties are not yet ended. For perihelion approaches, as the two worlds continue to grow nearer. And bad things are coming in its wake.
In the skies over Earth, astronomers have noted an anomaly which seems to be swallowing stars whole. On Eldh, these rifts in the sky are appearing as well--and the dragon Sinfathisar tells Grace Beckett that, if left unchecked, these holes of anti-being will annihilate all of creation forever. He adds that only Travis Wilder--whom the Mournish believe is fated to raise the lost city of Morindu the Dark from the desert sands that hide and hold it--can save the world. But what is the connection between the lost city of the sorcerers and the wounds that rift the heavens?
As Grace goes in search of Travis and Travis goes in search of his kidnapped daughter, all the threads of fate begin to pull together, revealing ancient mysteries on both worlds, and connections within connections that carry all the way back through time. With both worlds increasingly wracked by tempests and earthquakes and a palpable sense of hopelessness and despair, and with magic sputtering and dying around them, can our heroes patch together the missing pieces of the puzzle before all of life is annihilated?
From the Paperback edition.
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|Title of Philosophy eBook: The First Stone||Series: Last Rune, , #6|
|Release Date: 12-18-2007|
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|Publisher: Bantam Books|
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|Parent title||The First Stone|
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The First Stone
The dervish stepped from a swirl of sand, appearing on the edge of the village like a mirage taking form.
A boy herding goats was the first to see him. The boy clucked his tongue, using a switch to prod the animals back to their pens. All at once the animals began to bleat, their eyes rolling as if they had caught the scent of a lion. Usually a lion would not prowl so near the dwellings of men, but the springs that scattered the desert-which had never gone dry in living memory-were failing, and creatures of all kinds came in search of water and food. It was said that, in one village, a lion had crept into a hut and stolen a baby from the arms of its sleeping mother.
The boy turned around, and the switch fell from his fingers. It was not a lion before him, but a man covered from head to toe in a black serafi. Only his eyes were visible through a slit in the garment, dark and smoldering like coals. The man raised a hand; its palm was tattooed with red lines. Tales told by the village's elders came back to the boy-tales about men who ventured into the deepest desert in search of forbidden magics.
Obey your father and your mother, the old ones used to tell him when he was small, else a dervish will fly into your house on a night zephyr and steal you away. For they require the blood of wicked children to work their darkest spells.
"I need . . ." the dervish said, his voice harsh with a strange accent.
The boy let out a cry, then turned and ran toward a cluster of hovels, leaving the goats behind.
". . . water," the dervish croaked, but the boy was already gone.
The dervish staggered, then caught himself.