A Crown Imperiled: Book Two of the Chaoswar Saga
Raymond E. Feist
Language: English
Pages: 432
ISBN: 0061468428
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
“Feist constantly amazes.”
—SF Site
“Feist has a command of language and a natural talent for keeping the reader turning pages.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
The Chaoswar—the fifth and final Riftwar—is in full, explosive swing in Raymond E. Feist’s A Crown Imperiled, the second book in the acclaimed, New York Times bestselling fantasist’s monumental saga of courage, conflict, and bitter consequence. Once again, Midkemia, the author’s brilliantly conceived fantasy milieu, is in gravest danger from outside invaders—and from treacherous forces within—as the death of a powerful leader throws the world into chaos and threatens all hope of enduring peace. Returning in A Crown Imperiled are some of Feist’s most memorable characters—including the great sorcerer, Pug, who has been a fan favorite since his introduction in the author’s beloved classic, Magician—and the action, as always, comes fast and furious. The Chaoswar Saga is the master fantasist working at the peak of his powers, and further proof why Raymond E. Feist, like Terry Goodkind, George R. R. Martin, and Terry Brooks, is one of the true giants of epic fantasy fiction.
mask of fear. He held a large out. ‘It’s all we have. Take it. Please, take it and go.’ Miranda glanced at Nakor. They didn’t need a place to sleep, but comfort was always preferable to the ground. Yet these people were so terrified of what they had just witnessed, they would do anything to see Miranda, Nakor and the elves depart, despite having just been saved from the bandits. Miranda said, ‘Keep your food. You need it more than we do.’ She turned away. They mounted the horses and moved off
‘Excuse me, but my friends and I were wondering what you are doing here?’ Dark eyes regarded Nakor for a long moment, before the dark elf spoke, not in the King’s tongue but in heavily accented Common Tongue, the trading language of Triagia. ‘Go away, little man.’ Nakor’s grin broadened even more. ‘We could have some fun. I could tell this crowd exactly what you are. Many are from the north and have no love for your people; and then we can see how long you survive. Or, you could simply answer
linen skirt, girdled with a wide crocodile hide belt fastened with a gold clasp. The third Lord John was dressed like a noble of the Kingdom of the Isles, and it was he who was speaking. ‘This is unwise. We should not be gathered together in one place.’ ‘Brothers,’ answered the Lord John she knew. ‘There is no risk. Roldem is at peace, albeit a fragile one, so this is the safest place to meet. Kesh is crawling with guards, legionaries, nobles armed to the teeth ready to kill one another, and
throat. Martin rolled and tried to get to his feet, but his legs wobbled. Steadying hands gripped him from behind and Sergeant Ruther said, ‘Time to go, sir!’ Martin shook his head to clear it. ‘The light horse?’ ‘We held them up as long as we could, and the Keshians are now in the square. We need to fall back to the mayor’s house—’ The sergeant’s eyes widened and he went limp. A Keshian soldier pulled out the blade he had just stuck in Ruther’s back and began to strike at Martin. Martin
south-east, there was a small beach running barely a quarter of a mile between the southern edge of the city docks and the rocks along the quickly rising headlands. From there the coastline reared upward sharply to the promontory called Questor’s View, two days’ ride on a fast horse. A small village occupied the flat top of the promontory, and a small garrison was stationed there. The Duke had stripped it of soldiers as he marched south, leaving the village protected only by its surrounding