Blood of the Emperor (The Annals of Drakis, Book 3) by Tracy Hickman

By Tracy Hickman

It seems that an historical prophecy is ready to be fulfilled because the human named Drakis—formerly certainly one of numerous warrior-slaves to the elves of the Rhonas Empire—returns from his quest within the North. Flying into the insurgent camp together with his surviving partners at the backs of the mythical dragons that have been as soon as humankind's strongest allies, Drakis is hailed because the champion of all of the slave races. however it isn't a prophecy that drives Drakis in his warfare opposed to the elves and their emperor. fairly it truly is his burning wish for revenge opposed to the harsh ruler whom Drakis believes has stolen any likelihood he has for locating peace. And this hatred will set Drakis and his insurgent military on a direction that will not purely deliver down the emperor, yet Drakis and his complete international as well....

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Extra resources for Blood of the Emperor (The Annals of Drakis, Book 3)

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Christmas was a day of muggy heat and seas that heaved without a ripple. Always in my past that day had come with winter weather and had been spent indoors. Here we all lay in our deck chairs, spent and indolent, shading ourselves from the white glare of the sky and the dazzle of the sea. To celebrate the day there was an elaborate Christmas dinner and a concert. The heavy food, the wines, the rather wailing music, and the menacing needs of the morrow sent me state. I felt lost and far away, my too strong to grapple with the problems before me.

We passed through the door. The room was bright, its hangings were of buff upon which the sun streamed through its two wide-open windows. I saw a yellow table, a vase of great red roses, and behind it a man rising to greet us. Lord Mora! Of course, I knew I was going to meet him, I had not realized how instantly he would seem one of the great men of the world. He was more than handsome tall, rather spare man of fifty-five, active and graceful. His iron-gray hair was closely cut, showing the structure of a most beautiful head, proud, intelligent, and gallant.

For a few moments it was impossible not to feel that one was in the heart of desolate mountains. High above, shutting out the sun, rose the rusty talus slopes of the cliffs; the air was cool; the train swayed and creaked and screamed on sharp curves; and there was not a sign of a human being except ourselves. Presently the gorge narrowed and became wild and almost sinister. Then abruptly on either side the cliffs, like a portal, fell back, and we were in a valley shaped like a broadbottomed U. Its slowly rising sides were everywhere terraced, with trees, grass, gardens, dark soil, sharply-climbing earthy roads, and here and there low, brown stone houses.

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