A Darkness at Sethanon

Prologue

Darkwind

The wind came from nowhere.

Ringing into existence with the reverberation of a hammer striking doom, it carried the heat of a forge that fashioned hot war and searing death, It came into being in the heart of a lost land, emerging from some strange place between that which is and that which seeks to be. It blew from the south, where snakes walked upright and spoke ancient words. Angry, it stank of ancient evil, echoing with long-forgotten prophecies. In a frenzy the wind spun, swirling out of the void, seeking a course; then it paused, then it blew northward.

The old nurse hummed a simple tune, one handed down from mother to daughter for generations, while she sewed. She paused to glance up from her needlework. Her two small charges lay sleeping, tiny faces serene while they dreamed their tiny dreams. Occasionally fingers would flex or lips would purse in sucking motions, then one or the other would return to quiescence. They were beautiful babies and would grow to be handsome lads, of this the nurse was certain. As men they would have only vague memories of the woman who sat with them this night, but for now they belonged as much to her as to their mother, who sat with her husband presiding over a state dinner. Then through the window a strange wind came, chilling her despite its heat. It carried a hint of alien and distorted dissonance in its sound, an evil tune barely perceived. The nurse shivered and looked toward the boys. They became restless, as if ready to wake crying. The nurse hurried to the window and closed the shutters, blocking out the strange and disquieting night air. For a moment it seemed all time held its breath, then, as if with a slight sigh, the breeze died away and the night was calm again. The nurse tightened her shawl about her shoulders and the babies stirred fitfully for another moment, before lapsing into a deep and quiet sleep.

In another room nearby, a young man worked over a list, struggling to put

Der 1945 in Los Angeles geborene Raymond Feist ist einer der wichtigsten Vertreter der Fantasy in der Tradition Tolkiens. Sein in den 80er Jahren begonnener Zyklus um Midkemia ist bereits jetzt ein Klassiker des Genres und gilt als Meisterwerk der modernen Fantasy. Er lebt im Süden Kaliforniens.

Further praise for the Riftwar saga:

"Most exciting...a very worthy and absorbing addition to the fantasy field."
-- Andre Norton on Magician

"As exciting and absorbing as Magician in every way. The excellent characterization wedded to a tight and well-turned plot makes it one of the outstanding fantasy offerings of the season."
-- Andre Norton on Silverthorn

"A lively tale where engaging characters inhabit a well-rounded fantasy land." -- Publishers Weekly on Prince of the Blood
"Has humor and tears and romance...just about everything a fantasy fan could ask for...This is a book to read whether or not you have read the earlier trilogy."
-- UPI on Prince of the Blood

"A superior, rousing adventure."
-- Publishers Weekly on The King's Buccaneer

"An entertaining tale of high-seas adventure and exotic fantasy."
-- Locus on The King's Buccaneer
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