Chameleon Shapeshifters, uncontrollable storm powers, and the rise of Sylakia’s Dragon-elite. The battle against evil scales new heights, but the price of victory grows ever dearer.
Once, a Shadow Dragon ravaged the Island-World. Insatiable. Unstoppable. A Dragon-killer. Now the Shadow Dragon has reappeared, on a collision course with Aranya and King Beran’s campaign to liberate the Islands from the scourge of Sylakian tyranny. He is dark, beautiful and deadly, a predator of untold power.
Meantime, Thoralian weaves his web of guile and betrayal right in the hearts of Aranya’s friends and allies. He will bring them to an encounter only he can win.
Incredible aerial battles. An Ancient Dragon bent on enslaving Aranya. The treacherous secrets of Dragon magic. This is the fight for which destiny has shaped a heroine of rare courage–Aranya, Princess of Immadia. Criminal. Shapeshifter Dragon. A woman who will confront evil at any cost. Spite her at your peril.
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The man AWoke when a sword-point tickled his throat.
He leaped to his feet with an inarticulate cry. Bowstrings creaked. Shouts assaulted his ears. He whirled, glimpsing dozens of arrows trained unerringly on his heart. He began to back up, but a sharp prick near the spine cut short his instinctive attempt to escape.
The man found himself standing beneath a lone, lightning-split prekki-fruit tree, on the edge of a titanic cliff. Three feet from his toes, the land carved away into an immense space, devoid of Islands; a horizon-spanning void filled a league below by poisonous khaki clouds. The smell of rotting prekki fruit, cloyingly sweet, filled his nostrils. With it came faintness, a collapsing of the world toward him, black-edged and vengeful. He saw a haze. Voices swirled out of the mist.
“Naked?”
“He’s a warrior,” said another voice. “Look at the muscle on him, the scars.”
“Where’d he spring from? Not this Island, on my mark.”
“Only half a brain in that basket.”
“Who cares for brains on the pillow-roll? Not I.”
Rough laughter beat against his ears with the force of windrocs squabbling over a fresh kill. The man squeezed his eyes shut–as if that could shut out the banter and give him space to think. He could not remember his name.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Thales Andrade
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Author review: Thales was excellent to work with. Highly recommended. |
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Solangel Quiroz
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Author review: Timeliness and communication were excellent, thank you! |
