En savoir plus
Informationen zum Autor Elizabeth Vaughan Klappentext View our feature on Elizabeth Vaughan's Destiny's Star .A return to the world of the Warlands... Bethral! a beautiful warrior! and Ezren! a quick-witted storyteller! are confronted with a civil war and a tribe or warriors with their own code of honor and their own rules of pleasure and partnership. To stay alive they must learn new customs! confront their enemies! and conceal Ezren's fiery power. She frowned, contemplating her choices, considering well. Lives depended on her choice, especially her own. A blade? Or a mace? Lady Bethral, Warder of the Castle of Edenrich and Protector of Her Majesty, Queen Gloriana, the Chosen of Palins, tightened the last of the buckles on her armor as she looked over the rack of weapons at her disposal. "Don't see why you bother even pretending," Oris grumbled from behind her, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls of her office. "You're gonna take the mace." Bethral looked over her shoulder at the older man, and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, lifting his chin to meet her eyes. "You always do." "It's true, Lady," Alad chimed in. The younger man was nearer her height and could look her straight in the eye. He gave her one of his boyish grins, his blond hair falling into his eyes. Bethral shrugged, then turned back and pulled the mace off the rack, securing it to her belt. "I like the feel of a mace." "Can't understand why," Oris said. "A blade's a better choice. What if …" Bethral ignored him as she checked her saddlebags for the final time. Oris was a good man of strong opinion. He did his job well, and if he voiced his opinion of weapons once in a while, it was fair enough. "There's times you need to slash, then there's times you need to hack away," Oris continued. Alad sighed, and rolled his eyes. Bethral looked around her office. Odd how things had turned out. She'd gone from simple mercenary to this in less than a year's passing. There was a grumbling sound from the windowsill. The ugly barn cat roused itself, stretching in the sun as it woke from its third nap of the morning. Red Gloves had once said that it looked like a soured boil with its mottled fur. Bethral wasn't sure that was true, but it wasn't the loveliest creature, that was certain. The cat yawned, showing all its teeth, then started to wash its face. "Then there's stabbing," Oris continued. "What good is a mace if you need to run something through? I ask you—" In less than a year's time, Bethral had gained a battle mare, a barn cat, and plate armor that other warriors could only dream of. She'd fought beside the Chosen to challenge the usurper for the Throne of Palins, and had stood at Gloriana's side as she claimed the throne. She had lost her sword-sister, though. Red Gloves had left before the coronation. Bethral had offered to go with her, but Red had stopped her with a simple question. "Now who's avoiding the call to adventure?" Bethral wasn't sure she'd made the right choice that night. But here she was, and here she'd serve, until there was no longer a need for her services. But for now, she'd a task at hand. Bethral sighed as she picked up her helmet, and slung her saddlebags over her shoulder. The cat roused itself, then leapt to the floor to twine around her legs. "You'll see to the Queen's safety while I'm gone?" Bethral rounded on Oris, cutting off his speech. Oris and Alad both glowered at her. "Been doing it since she was a bit of a thing, back at Auxter's farm." Oris stiffened, his face getting red. "No reason to think I'll do anything else." "True enough." Bethral nodded to both men. "But she's no longer a child you need to watch over. She's the Chosen, the newly crowned Queen, and new to the throne. If any were to—" "They won't," Alad ...
