Branimir emerges from the Netherworld as a living legend and learns the Ash Tree is still in danger from the cursed dagger, kaelandur. An old friend compels Branimir to finish what they started at Melkorka. Once again, the former slave must keep kaelandur out of uncertain hands, while struggling to separate heroes from villains and friends from foes.
However, Robertson's writing, as noted in my review of Melkorka, is fantastic. His voice is solid and his take on the story, as written from the point of view of Branimir, continues to offer unique perspectives.
At the end of Melkorka, we see our heroes tragically separated from their world, and when Dyndaer begins, more than 1,000 years have passed by, and our heroes haven't aged a day, with Branimir now a seasoned warrior. There's something about him, something hardly mentioned but perceptible in the way the writer attends to this, which is brilliant, to say the least. This intangible actually caused me some anger at the character when he refused to act, especially when his friends were in danger. This made it all the more satisfying when he does finally take up arms again.
After pondering it a while, if I were to offer up any form of critique, it would be that while there were no obvious parts as in Melkorka that made think it didn't belong there, I actually felt as though there were too many questions left unanswered. As a fellow writer, I'll be the first to admit that striking that balance is probably one of the more difficult things to do. Where do we draw the line as to what is answered and what is left to the characters' secrets? How much should the reader know going into the next book?
I know that Maharia, the third installment of this amazing trilogy, is on its way, and I'm excited for it. I'm hoping my questions will be answered there. Until then, I will try to be patient. If you have been considering reading anything from this author, don't consider, just read and let him take you on a journey fraught with danger, despair, and once in a while, a bit of hope.
Other books in this genre:
Ellie pulled the gun out of a shoulder holster that was just a touch too big for her. Its heft calmed her nerves. That lump of cold metal helped to ground her. She couldn't help the hope that lit up like a spark. The chances of Edward being in there were slim; still, she missed him so much. Ellie wanted him to be. She wanted this to be the one. Ellie thought back counting the labs like this they’d hit. The total was much higher than she ever wanted to admit.
She glanced across the seat at Reese. The truck sputtered as it idled. He stared up at the building, searching for anyone moving inside. She didn't bother. Ellie could barely see it. Only a few floors lit up by the streetlights. The building rose high into the sky, a veritable wall of glass. The upper floors lost to darkness. The parking lot was all but empty. The moon hung high and fat in the velvet black of the night sky.
“Check the clip,” he told her, tongue dancing over his full bottom lip. Reese hadn’t taken his eyes the building.
Ellie smirked and pulled back on the slide. The bullet popped out. Her hands shook so hard it rolled over the side of her palm onto her lap. She narrowed her eyes angry at her own clumsiness. Ellie moved to grab it, and it slipped between her thighs. She shook her head, awkwardly reaching for it. He laughed at her. Ellie did her best not to take it personally.
The bullet in her left fist, she hit the button. The clip shot out into her hand. Ellie stared down at the first bullet. It was full. She knew it was. The lesson Reese was trying to push was that you should always check your sidearm. Ellie pressed the bullet into the top of the clip rolling the gun up. The firing pin was difficult to see in the darkness of the cab. She had to look hard for it.
Satisfied that it was straight, Ellie slipped the clip back inside the bottom of the Glock 26, giving it a hard slap. Listening for the click, she pulled back on the slide to chamber the top bullet. Lastly, she checked the safety. That made Reese smile. She was finally getting to the point where he didn't have to drill it into her every time. Maybe she could learn after all.
He turned his head to look at her, long black hair falling into his handsome face. A sharp breath out the side of his mouth blew his bangs out of his gray eyes. A smile pulled up at the corners of his sensual lips. Eyebrows dragging inward, he sighed. His eyes danced over her heart shaped face.
“I don't suppose I could talk ya into staying in the car?”
“Not a chance. You go in, I go in.”
“Can't blame a guy for trying,” he mumbled. Ellie got the distinct impression that he wasn't talking to her. It was mostly because his eyes slid past her, looking over her shoulder into the shadows of the backseat. She caught herself turning to look. His eyes slid back over her face. “Ya stay behind me. No stupid heroics this time.”
Ellie frowned. She popped the latch on the passenger side door. It groaned loudly as she forced it open. The side of the Chevy was dented severely above the wheel well on her side. The craters and scratches spilled across her door almost to the edge of the cab. She hopped down and pulled her navy pea coat in close against the cutting wind that tore at her long, blond hair.
Ellie shoved the door closed and had to try a second time putting her shoulder into it to get it to stick. She was so ready to ditch this truck and get a new one. Ellie was surprised after the last time the thing still ran. She came around the front end her Glock held close to her thigh. Her fingers kept tightening around the grip, trying to get the perfect hold. It eluded her. The fear she refused to admit to had hold of her second and third thoughts.
She heard Reese's door shut and he just appeared next to her. Ellie took in a dragging breath. She was sure she would never get used to that. There were so many things she was sure she would never get used to. He was so damn fast she couldn't even see him move. Ellie had to jog to keep up with him when he was just walking regularly. His stride was much longer than hers. Reese stood at a tall and lean six foot two, where she was fighting to make five foot even.
“Leave the guards to me. Ya go straight for the…whatever they call it.”
“Serum. Miller called it the Serum.”
Reese gave her a noncommittal shrug that irritated the hell out of her. Ellie took in a deep breath just to blow it back out again, tilting her head to one side sharply. The parking lot felt much larger than it really was. The closer they got, the building seemed that much farther away. Her eyes were wide, showing too much white. Ellie glared down at her hand trying to get it to stop shaking. People were about to die, and Ellie knew that some of them would be at her hand.
She looked up at Reese. His expression was calculating. He was concentrating hard, and Ellie thought she knew why. “Thank you,” she blurted out.
“Thank you for doing this. I know what it takes out of you, Reese. I'm grateful.”
His boyish grin melted her to her very core. “Hey, anything for ya, sweetheart. Ya know that.”
“Yeah, I know that.” Ellie bit down on the corner of her bottom lip. “Ready?”
“Guess we're about to find out.”
Millie had created something dark, and she liked it. She approved of the darkness. She embraced it as she would her own mother.
She herself was dark. She knew this fact. She did not dispute it. She acknowledged it. She celebrated it.
She looked down from the open stairway landing that she stood upon. From that vantage point, she could see the entire space below her. And she marveled at what she had created there. She gazed down through the gothic stair rails at the environment that she had created.
What she had created was an invitation for the dead and those living who wished to commune with them. Only candles illuminated what she had created. Only candlelight was pure enough to light her world.
She looked down on the flame-lit scene and smiled. Bathed in the light was a table, circular, but not quite a circle. It had five sides equal in length, a perfect pentagon.
Each side had a chair pulled up to it. These were highbacked gothic things, upholstered in black leather.
They had cost Millie a pretty penny. But they were worth it. They added to the ambiance that she wished to create.
On the pentagon table sat a table cloth. It was almost completely black, as black as onyx. It was entirely black except for the crimson embroidery work that had been done upon it.
Millie looked down from her vantage point on the stairs. She looked down on this embroidered tablecloth with great pride. She herself had done the needle-work. The crimson pentagram that she had created contrasted nicely with the black fabric of the table cloth, or so she had always felt.
She gazed upon the walls of the room. They had been covered with gothic-style tapestries. These showed various medieval themes. Millie knew that none of them were authentic. They were all reproductions. They were good reproductions. To her this was what mattered. It was the atmosphere that she was trying to create.
Millie was almost completely satisfied as she stood there on the stairs, soaking in the pleasure that came from viewing her homemade lair of darkness. She estimated her internal satisfaction gage was at 99 percent.
She highly desired that elusive last percent. She knew what she would need to capture it.
She would need first and foremost to be patient. If she were patient, she knew that the final element to her room would come into place.
“Patience Millie,” she mumbled to herself. “Just be patient.”
But it was so hard to be patient. Indeed, she felt giddy like a dark-hearted school girl.
She looked at her hands. They were shaking.
She grasped the banister in front of her with both hands. She gripped it firmly. Yet, she still felt the tremors of anticipation running through her like highamp currents surging through the body of an electric eel.
She felt short of breath. She tried to control that. In through the nose, out through the mouth, she thought as she tried to regulate the exchange of oxygen for carbon dioxide in her lungs.
Despite her efforts, she felt dizzy. She must not lose consciousness. She must not fall down the stairs. Such a mishap as that would lend poorly to her goal of becoming 100 percent satisfied.
Slowly, she descended the stairs. Slowly, she more fully engulfed herself in her lair of darkness of which she was the creator. As she descended the stairs, she had the sensation of one descending into a pleasantly temperate pool.
“Patience Millie,” she chanted. “You must remember to maintain your patience.”
No matter how much she tried. She felt unable to control her body. Her lungs continued at the rate of a steel mill bellows. Her heart continued to race.
She imagined her heart beating free of her chest. She imagined it smashing through her sternum as a bullet smashes through a clay target. She pictured this in her mind and giggled. It was a funny thought. She imagined her heart sprinting around the room and touching all the dark objects. Then she suddenly realized that she was doing just that herself. She danced about. She caressed the candles. She stroked the table and chairs. She made contact with everything.
“Calm down Millie old gal. You must have patience.”
On a hook was a robe. She grabbed it and put it on. It was made of shiny black satin and caressed her already excited body, making it even more so.
Under where the robe had been, on that hook was an amulet. This she also put on over the robe. She loved this charm. It was one of her favorite symbols of darkness, a pentagram.
The doorbell awoke her from her giddy self-induced trance. The first of her guests had arrived.
As she went to the door, she felt energized. That elusive last percent had been captured. Actually, she felt her internal satisfaction gage jump to at least 110 percent.
She was barely able to stand. The excitement was overwhelming her. She reached for the door. She turned the knob.
She could hardly contain her enthusiasm as she opened the door. Her first guest had arrived. She welcomed them in.
Freeda sat in the chair across from me and leaned back, her eyes probing mine. “I had a dream about you last night. You were running through the mountains in your wolf form, but you were being chased. I woke up before I could see if you were caught.”
I choked on a drink of coffee. “M-my wolf form?” I asked while coughing to dislodge the liquid from my windpipe.
“You already know it’s possible. The glow of your magic has changed.”
A hand wrapped around my arm and I was pulled back to sit again. The contact of that hand was gentle, but I could feel the change. Power pulsed through my system. It was happening again.
“Nia, listen to me, okay? It wasn’t your fault,” Kane’s voice said, the olive-green of his aura both bold and calming.
Wait. Aura? How was that possible? I had felt the change, felt my body absorb something just like it had that morning, but for some reason, the colors were still there. My body was filled by a wild strength, as though I had the ability to lift a car off the ground one-handed.
What was wrong with me? What was I?
A short story collection about Basement Man ; moody drunk, sometime rock climber, absurdist philosopher, raconteur of the ridiculous, rogue, and not-so-merry prankster from the North End of Yonkers (aka Junkies Paradise). An every-man for nobodies, he is ever adrift between the carrot of sobriety and the reality of carpe diem. Bowing only to the laws of Murphy, he can never decide whether the lucky ones are the survivors or those who died years ago.
From: Invitation to the Blues
"She's a moving violation
From her conk down to her shoes,
But it's just an invitation to the blues"
The sky was that super-3-D dark-bright ... looks like the whole fuckin scheme of things is gonna change...or like you're standin on another planet...And the clouds are churnin and curdled like lemon-flavored milk, their guts all twisted and seethin with Frankenstein lightning ... And you really feel like somethin's gonna happen ... dogs'll start talkin, the dead start walkin, and Christ, the least'll happen is some house'll come whippin the fuck outa Kansas and zap some old witch in striped socks.
But just when you figure the laws of physics are gonna be repealed, all it does is start fuckin rainin ... and you're left standin like a douchebag with nature washin the big ideas clean out your brain.
"You've come to the Rims. This is the place of High Adventure!"
It all began with One Last Errand (SylverMoon Chronicles Vol V). Before Dungias, before JoJo Starblazer, before the games being played to change the known universe... First there was a single young boy touched by fate.
Orphaned at a very young age, Valian Styrke found himself in a realm far away from where he was born. Adopted and raised by the House Jhormynn, Valian was part of a world to which he never truly belonged. A world that tried to label him - a world that tried to change him.
But Valian kept to his heritage; he maintained his identity and most importantly, he kept to the dedication of courage and honor demonstrated in his parents’ final act... A dedication and loyalty which will be tested time and time again in his quest to become the man his parents meant him to be. In the Inner Rim Empire, there is a paragon of skill and power called the KnighT. Valian is but one hopeful, seeking his place in their number.
A feud, which has been unsettled for centuries…
A vampire leader, determined to sacrifice his army…
A werewolf clan, ready to invade its greatest enemy…
A town on the verge of destruction, its secrets buried in a Native American legend…
This is Apollo’s story
In a hurry to leave the forest of Stockwood, Washington, and the feud between his vampire family and his werewolf bloodline, Apollo and Sophie flee to a neighboring town in order to seek a “normal” life together.
Protecting Sophie is the only thing on Apollo’s mind—until he finds himself in the middle of a town with a deadly secret—a secret which includes everyone he loves.
Now caught between his duties to protect the vampire family that raised him, share his life with the woman he loves and unravel the town’s secrets, which could destroy everyone, Apollo makes a choice. Determined to do the right thing, Apollo’s world is torn apart, causing him to unleash his rage on everything in his path.
A pendant with a secret...
A four-thousand-year-old curse, cast in the land of gods, threatens Apollo’s twins...
In a treacherous journey to break the curse of a pendant connected to his twins, Apollo travels to a land where vampires and werewolves were born—a land where good and evil, light and dark, collide. With time against him, he seeks to understand and alter his children’s destiny while he confronts his foes who possess supernatural powers he never knew existed. Now, Apollo must confront his past, face his present and make decisions that could alter his future. Will he save his children, or lose them to the curse forever?
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