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Category: Fantasy/Science Fiction
Description: Awakened from magical sleep, Emrillian Warhawk grew up in the modern, technological world of Moerta, 2000 years away from Quenlaque and Lygroes. There, the legends of Athrar Warhawk and Quenlaque, Braenlicach and the Zygradon were nothing but fanciful tales warped beyond all recognition. Raised by Mrillis the enchanter, she knew the truth, and sought out friends among the Archaics, who believed in the promise and prophecy of Quenlaque and the return of Athrar. Only they had access to star-metal, the Threads, and the magic of the Rey'kil. Then the authorities threatened their sanctuary to confiscate star-metal to use in weapons of war. Emrillian and Mrillis fled back to Lygroes through the tunnel under the sea, accompanied by Grego, a friend with inborn magic who had sworn loyalty to Athrar and Quenlaque. In Lygroes, where only 200 years had passed, they joined forces with Baedrix, descendant of Lycen, and prepared for the awakening of Athrar, the dismantling of the dome of Threads that kept Lygroes hidden from the modern world, and the final battle with Edrout, son of the Nameless One. With the help of Archaics who crossed to Lygroes and awakened their own inborn magic, Emrillian, Baedrix, and Grego set out to retrieve Braenlicach from hiding and find the lost Zygradon to heal and awaken Athrar. Time was their enemy as Edrout gathered his forces and armies from the modern world surrounded them -- and failure could mean the destruction of the entire world.
eBook Publisher: Uncial Press, 2011
eBookwise Release Date: May 2011

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [384 KB]
Words: 85755
Reading time: 245-343 min.

"...writing style is fluid and has a classic feel, perfect for a retelling of the Arthurian legends, and there's a sense this novel has been inspired by such works as The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley and Mary Stewart's Merlin Trilogy. Spinoffs of the tales of Merlin, Arthur, and the Knights of the Round Table are numerous, some good, some wanting, but this work is one of the good ones."--Shannon Frost, TCM Reviews

When they were halfway across the glass-smooth floor, a sound like a sudden, soft gasp came from the two sleepers. The cloth covering their forms shifted slightly, and the sounds of breathing grew stronger, louder, more steady in a few heartbeats. As her eyes grew accustomed to the shifting haze of the light, Emrillian made out more details of the two people lying before her.

A man and a woman. Even with her fading memories of her last view of her parents, Emrillian somehow expected them both to be robed and crowned as king and queen. The man wore a plain, faded, dark blue tunic and shirt. The kind of clothes a convalescent would wear, comfortable and warm, and easily laundered.

He didn't wear a helmet or chain mail or armor. He didn't even hold an empty scabbard, as the tales and ballads popular among the Archaics pictured Athrar Warhawk in his mystical resting place. A quilt with a simple spiral pattern in blue and green covered him partway, as if he had moved in his sleep and dislodged it. Emrillian remembered her mother making that quilt when they lived in the Stronghold. She had promised to teach her daughter to make one just like it, when she was a little older.

Ynfara's deep golden hair was loosely bound in a simple matron's net at the back of her head. No gauzy scarves or jewels. The only jewelry visible were their marriage bands on their wrists, and Athrar's signet ring. They looked like ordinary folk, weary from long labors, in travel clothes.

Emrillian remembered how pale and emaciated her father had been when they brought him to the tunnel and the Vale of Lanteer, to save his life through enchantment. Now, Athrar almost looked as he did from those short few moons of happy family life. He had color in his cheeks, and his beard and hair didn't look so drained of life and substance. But both her parents still looked tired, nothing at all like the triumphant king and queen, ready to leap from their bier, take up their magical weapons and lead in the defense of their kingdom.

"Grandfather--"

"Hush, my dear. Trust in the Estall. His timing is best."

She studied her parents as she took the last few steps up to the bier, trying to decide what features she had inherited from whom. She had her father's upturned nose and strong, long-fingered hands. Mrillis had told her many times she had Athrar's grip and dexterity. She had inherited her mother's dainty chin and rounded brow and long, white neck. Any other features, she could not discern. The similarities were enough to comfort her.

Ynfara sighed loudly. The arm stretched across Athrar's chest twitched. She reached up to rub her nose, and snuggled down closer against his shoulder.

Emrillian couldn't help it. Her nerves snapped and she giggled.

"Who's there?" Ynfara whispered, and her eyes flickered open. A frown creased her forehead as she stared up into the pearly lights spinning around her. Those eyes were deep blue. Emrillian thought she could look into them and find the answers to questions only half-formed in her mind.

"Mama?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a squeak. She cleared her throat. "Mama."

"Who--" She inhaled sharply. "Emmi?" She struggled to sit up.

Emrillian hurried around the bier to offer her hand.

Ynfara shuddered and stared, wrapping her arms tight around herself. She began to shake her head, then moaned and pressed her fists against her temples.

"Slowly, my dear." Mrillis came to stand beside Emrillian. He rested a hand on Ynfara's head. A flash of green-tinted light made all four in the room flinch.

"Grandfather." Ynfara offered a trembling smile. Then a sob shook her and she stared at Emrillian. "What happened to my baby?"