The past is the key.
Helena and the Legend have finally reached China, still one Dragon tear short. She needs to meet a contact under the streets of Guangzhou.
Locate the Land of Immortals so she can rescue Tsang Mei.
Find the lost policeman and pull him from any danger he might have gotten himself into.
Locate her father if he is still alive.
All while stopping the end of the world, plotted by the Rakshasa from before the beginning of time.
No pressure.
Follow Helena as she searches for Shangri-La and her father in the final Helena Brandywine novel.
Genre: FICTION / Science Fiction / Steampunk
I have over 30 books published in several SF/F sub-genres; I would like to increase my international readership.
A hand touched Doyle’s shoulder, jolting him from his deep sleep. Belly full, he slept sounder than normal. The room with its straw mattress reminded him of his youth. The three blankets that covered him helped keep the chill of the night air at bay.
“Mister Longstreet.” The voice sounded familiar. For a moment, he hoped DeLaval had returned to take him back somewhere warm. Alas it wasn’t meant to be. It came from Pastor Robbins, the missionary who ran this isolated church deep in the mountain valleys of China.
He found himself partially tangled in the clothes he slept in. They constricted his limbs like a giant snake. If he dreamed, he was certain his nights would be filled with nightmares of giant snakes slithering through his subconscious.
He had said a silent prayer before bed the night before that DeLaval would return. The air elemental would have caused a stir popping into this quiet section of the world. His furry seven-foot-tall frame would be hard to explain, but he would have been willing to try to save him the walk up the mountain… and he would have been better company than Doyle found in himself. At best he stayed in a sour mood most of the time. The loss of his fiancée weighed heavily on his soul. When he found her, he would never leave her side, no matter the cost.
“Yeah, I’m awake,” Doyle grumbled as he forced himself up. The altitude must be sapping his energy. Normally he was a light sleeper. He did his best to twist his legs from under the covers. His boots sat at the ready, they slipped on. He favored the western-style cowboy boots even without a horse to ride. They had traveled a long way with him.
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Louise Chaumont
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Author review: Thank you. |
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Alessandra Beu
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Author review: Thank you |
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Gleni Mendoza
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Author review: Thank you! |
