Category: Fantasy Publisher: iUniverse
ISBN-10: 0595268048
Type: Fiction
Pages: 352
Copyright: Jan 1 2003
A young boy in a small village has a mysterious dream that hints of the fantastic power of the Water Orb, one of the four elemental forces that has been lost to the world for nearly three centuries. Heeding the advice of the powerful wizard Zelin, Tarthur sets off on a quest to understand his dream and the consequences for the fate of civilization. Join Tarthur and Derlin as they travel through the land, learning not only about the world but also about themselves and what it means to pass from boyhood into the world of men. Journey to the mystical lands of Daranor - see a sunrise on the shoals of the merfolk, ponder the powerful evil of the Death Lord Darhyn, feel the hope of Freeton, the serenity of the lands of the elves, and the cunning of Queen Marhyn. Meet a mysterious shapeshifter, the twin heads of the Guild of Thieves, and the stunningly beautiful princess of the elves. Whether you are a child, teen, or adult, the lands of Daranor have something for you.
Excerpt
In the northern most corner of the Savanna plain, a storm always raged. Now was no exception. Nothing real could live here. In the summer the heat beat down, drying and cracking the earth, burning any feeble traveler who was brave enough, or stupid enough to come here. In the winter the cold burnt like dry ice and the snow fell. It was not white snow like that which fell elsewhere, but dirty brown snow, poisoning the earth. In the summer the snow did not melt, it evaporated, robbing the land of any moisture that it might inherit. There was no spring, no autumn. Only the extremes of winter and summer existed. Castle Rathskellar stood as a lone sentinel on this plain where nothing stood. The wind whistled through the all but abandoned fortress. A few black Dwarf sentries nervously paced the battlements. Far away a young boy used the Water Orb, and the Death Lord stirred in his grave.
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So it was that on the eighth day of his incarceration that something quite extraordinary happened. Tarthur fell through the floor and landed on someone.
Tarthur’s constant digging had weakened the structure of the cells that Marhyn’s goblins had so carelessly built. When it could stand no more stress without the support of the wall, the floor collapsed. Brushing himself off and checking for injuries, (there were none, fortunately only part of the floor had collapsed) Tarthur heard a loud groaning sound. Startled, and a great bit disappointed, Tarthur realized that he had not broken free as he had intended to, but rather, simply fallen into another person’s cell. At least this was better than being alone. As he helped the man to his feet, Tarthur wondered just how much help this man could be to him.
As he looked at the old man uneasily, Tarthur decided to begin rather frankly. “My name is Tarthur. I’m sorry I fell on you.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you are now,” the stranger said, looking around. “But where are my spectacles?”
“Well, they are on your head,” Tarthur said, confused.
“What are?”
“Your spectacles.”
“Why,” he exclaimed with surprise. “So they are! Dratted things are always trying to hide from me. I’ll have to apologize, I’m a bit forgetful.”
Tarthur replied good-naturedly, “I’m sure you are.”
“Are what?”
“Forgetful.”
“Who is?”
“You are!” Tarthur, never a patient one in any case was beginning to get angry.
“Whoa,” he replied. “You must not get too angry. I have to tell you that I am a little forgetful.”
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