Sons of the Oak (Runelords)
David Farland
Language: English
Pages: 416
ISBN: 0765341085
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Certain works of fantasy are immediately recognizable as monuments, towering above the rest of the category. Authors of those works, such as Stephen R. Donaldson, Robert Jordan and Terry Goodkind, come immediately to mind. Add to that list David Farland, whose epic Runelords series continues now in Sons of the Oak.
The story picks up eight years after the events of Lair of Bones and begins a new chapter in the Runelords saga focusing on Gaborn's son, Fallion. Gaborn, the Earth King, has been traveling far from his home, to strange and unknown places. While beyond the edge of the earth, he finally succumbs to the accelerated aging that comes from all of the endowments he has taken. His death is the signal for a revolution, an attack from the supernatural realms by immensely powerful immortal beings.
These forces have discovered that Gaborn's son is the resurrection of an immortal, one whose potential power is so great that he might be able to reorder the entire universe. Fallion's enemies have decided that they must control him, and failing that, destroy him. He is only a child, but he is the heir to Gaborn's kingdom, and so must flee to the ends of the earth to avoid the destruction of all that Gaborn accomplished.
One of the mightiest of contemporary fantasy epics continues.
died in the skirmish, who would blame him? It would leave him free to assume the throne … .” “Westhaven is not that kind of man,” Myrrima said, surprised that Shadoath would think so ill of him. Shadoath only smiled. “All men are that kind of man.” Was that really true? In a few years, Fallion would reach his majority and be ready to assume the throne. Would Westhaven refuse to turn it over? Myrrima believed that he was better than that. “So,” Myrrima pressed. “Three thousand forcibles and
to flee. Fallion heard the driver mutter a curse, and suddenly Fallion looked off out the other window and saw more of the beasts coming out of the fog and realized that they had inadvertently driven right into a sounder of the monsters. The driver pulled the carriage to a halt. For long tense minutes the boars rooted and grunted nearby, until at last one beast came so close that it brushed against a wheel. Its casual touch devastated the carriage; suddenly the axle cracked and the vehicle
as well have just resorted to the nearest inn.” “Common folk know an uncommon lot,” Borenson quoted an old proverb. He grinned. “Rumor says that the queen is holed up at the Courts of Tide. And to prove it, the queen’s flag is flying, to show that she is in residence.” Someone is thinking, Iome realized. Was it Chancellor Westhaven who raised the queen’s flag? “Maybe that’s what drew the assassins last night,” Borenson continued. “A milkmaid who delivered to the palace this morning swears that
fellow shifted his gaze to the left, then to the right. “We best continue our negotiations in more private like.” The little fellow turned, stumbled through the crowd as if half drunk, and Borenson fixed his eye on the back of the fellow’s long coat and followed him out the door. The street was dark, with only a crescent moon peering through wisps of clouds, while a low fog was creeping up from the sea. The fellow headed around a back corner, and Borenson followed him down to the pier. It was
The deadness of them, that’s what made Stalker shiver. Shadoath’s eyes were dark and sparkling, as if her pupils were black diamonds. Her ebon hair fell over one naked shoulder, curling in toward her cleavage. Every curve of her—shoulders, breast, stomach, thighs—seemed to drive him mindless with reptilian desires, and Stalker had to struggle to restrain himself. Stalker had often admired Myrrima when she walked the decks, but Shadoath—Myrrima was a pale shadow beside her. Shadoath had to have