Series: The Silvan #2
on April 28, 2018
Cover Design: Anastasia Znamenska with Deranged Doctor
Genres: Young Adult, Epic Fantasy
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A light in the forest, a king returned, a past to claim …
Fel’annár is an immortal half-blood warrior from the Deep Forest, an orphan whose questions were never answered. With a dream of becoming a Silvan captain in an army ruled by the Alpine elves, he is sent to protect a prince of the realm on a journey to Tar’eastór, land of the mighty Alpine elves and of Fel’annár’s own father – whoever he was.
His nascent power will continue to evolve as his shrouded past finally surfaces. The truth he never thought to hear will thrust him onto a path strewn with political intrigue, discrimination, danger and self-discovery.
Meanwhile, a failing king will rise from the ashes of grief and reclaim his place as leader of the Great Forest. Warriors will battle the enemy on the borders, while at court, councillors will clash over the racial divide that is pulling them apart.
They say that civil war is coming, but one warrior can avoid it – if he can embrace his past, control his powers and accept the role he is destined to play.
From warrior to master and beyond, Fel’annár is The Silvan who can restore peace in the Great Forest, or cast it into eternal chaos.
“Warriors to me!” shouted the lieutenant, and he was immediately joined by two Alpines who took up defensive positions over the crumpling form of Pan’assár. Fel’annár made his own way towards them, but his progress was slow. A Deviant rushed him from the side, not fast enough, and Fel’annár danced out of the way before cutting through its abdomen. Another approached from behind and Galadan turned in time to see its ugly head tower over Fel’annár’s shoulder. Opening his mouth to call a warning, he promptly closed it as Fel’annár thrust his sword backwards and then scooted to one side as the Deviant fell forwards.
Galadan nodded at the bloodied Silvan as he joined them. There were hardly any warriors left; none in the trees and but a handful of them here, defending the life of their commander, and still, the Deviants came.
Fel’annár nodded at them as he came to stand beside Galadan, checking his stance, steadying his breathing. He would need all his skill to survive this fight.
The enemy wailed as they ran, and Fel’annár closed his eyes, opening them to the other world, the one in which he swam in blue, purple, and green waves of energy he did not fully understand. Had he done that? he wondered. Had he transformed himself purposefully? Had he controlled it?
The wails were silenced, and his heart was the only sound he could hear now, that and the rush of breath as he inhaled and exhaled. There was the low drone of something outside himself, rhythmic and powerful, and he thought perhaps it was the light in his eyes that emitted it.
He moved his sword arm before him, his sabre in his other hand, aloft like the steely horn of some mythical creature. He watched as they came. But then something quite unexpected happened; they stopped before him.
The foremost Deviant was taller even than Fel’annár, as bulky as Ramien, one side of its face eaten away. It stood silently for a moment, a strange clicking sound coming from its throat while the remaining Deviants were behind it, unmoving. This was their leader, realised Fel’annár.
“Blessed Aria,” pleaded an Alpine warrior beside him.
Leathery skin stretched over rotten teeth, a mockery of a smile, and a surge of power pulsed through The Silvan’s veins, setting his eyes to blazing and his hair to swimming around him. It was not the first time it had happened, but it was the first time he could feel it, hear it, aware of the other presence in his mind and the power it lent him.
The Deviant screamed in wrath, black veins puffing in its throat, body shaking with the force of the screech, and in a second it was upon Fel’annár. The other Deviants surged forwards, and Galadan and the two remaining warriors were immersed in a desperate battle for their lives.
Fel’annár’s last thought before the scimitar came towards him was for The Company.
‘Protect them—Aria,’ he whispered into the breeze, and although he could not hear it, the boughs rustled, complicit.
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