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Zusatztext "Everything a fan of heroic fantasy could desire." --STEPHEN DONALDSON "I am truly amazed at David Gemmell's ability to focus his writer's eye. His images are crisp and complete! a history lesson woven within the detailed tapestry of the highest adventure. Gemmell's characters are no less complete! real men and women with qualities good and bad! placed in trying times and rising to heroism or falling victim to their own weaknesses." --R. A. SALVATORE Author of Mortalis "Gemmell is very talented; his characters are vivid and very convincingly realistic." --CHRISTOPHER STASHEFF Author of the Wizard of Rhyme novels Informationen zum Autor David Gemmell Klappentext The ruined city of Kuan Hador reeks of dark mystery. Shunned by brigands and merchants alike, it is home to fearsome wild things and legends that freeze the blood--tales that speak of slavering white beasts, locked behind a powerful wall of spells, who possess an insatiable appetite for death. Millennia have passed since they were bound, and the spell of imprisonment has begun to fade. Soon the foul minions will be free to wreak a horrible vengeance against all that lives. But no army waits to oppose them, only a ragtag group of unlikely heroes. Leading them is the mysterious Gray Man, an enigmatic figure with a blood-drenched past who has killed for principle and for payment--a man of destiny known throughout the lands of the Drenai as Waylander the Slayer . . . Leseprobe Waylander moved warily across the killing ground, examining the hoofprints left by riders who had come upon the scene later. Twenty, maybe thirty riders had entered the wood and left in the same direction. All around the site were the bodies of scores of birds. He found a dead fox in the bushes to the north of the wagons. There were no marks on it. Venturing deeper into the woods, he followed the trail of dead birds and ice-scorched grass, coming at last to what he believed to be the point of origin. It was a perfect circle some thirty feet in diameter. Waylander walked around it, picturing as best he could what must have happened there. An icy mist had formed in the spot, then had rolled toward the west as if driven by a fierce breeze. Everything in its path had died, including the wagoners and their families. But where, then, were the remains of the bodies, the discarded bones, the shredded clothing? Backtracking toward the wagons, he stopped and examined an area where bushes had been crushed or torn from the ground. Blood had seeped into the earth. This was where one of the dead horses had been dragged. Waylander found more deep imprints of taloned feet close by. One creature had killed the horse and torn it from its traces, pulling it deeper into the woods. The blood trail stopped suddenly. Waylander squatted down, his fingers tracing the indented earth. The horse had been dragged to this point and then had lost all body weight. Yet it had not been devoured here. Even if the demon had been ten feet tall, it could not have consumed an entire horse. And there were no signs that others of the creatures had gathered around to share a feast. There were no split and discarded bones, no guts or offal. Waylander rose and reexamined the surrounding area. The tracks of taloned feet just beyond this point were all heading in one direction, toward the lake. The demons, having slaughtered the wagoners and their horses, had returned to where he now stood and had vanished. As incredible as it seemed, there was no other explanation. They had returned to wherever they had come, taking the bodies with them. The light was beginning to fail. Waylander returned to the steeldust and stepped into the saddle. What had caused the demons to materialize in the first place? Surely it could not be ch...
