Devlin's Luck (The Sword of Change, Band 1) - Softcover

Bray, Patricia

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0553584758 ISBN 13: 9780553584752

Verlag: Spectra, 2002

Inhaltsangabe

A desperate man in a dying kingdom is awarded the most coveted—and most deadly—choice of all

The once mighty kingdom of Jorsk is in decline, its borders beset by enemies, both worldly and otherworldly. The king has retreated to the capital, abandoning the far-flung provinces. The only hope of the people lies in their Chosen One, blessed by the gods as defender of the realm. But of late every Chosen One has died, targeted by the harshest of the enemy attacks.

Only the most desperate of men now seek that post. Devlin Stonehand is a desperate man. Overwhelmed by grief at the death of his family, he has lost the will to live. But he has vowed to provide for his brother’s widow and children, and the post of the Chosen One carries with it a substantial reward.

For Devlin, a farmer and metalsmith, it is the answer to his prayers—prayers that include a yearning for the oblivion of death. After he has won the post, though, Devlin discovers that sometimes the hardest goal to achieve is that which had once seemed the simplest. For unlike the other Chosen Ones, he persists in surviving. Are the gods just tormenting him further, or does he have a greater destiny than he imagined? Can a man who courts death ever truly come to embrace life?

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Patricia Bray inherited her love of books from her parents, both of whom were fine storytellers in the Irish tradition. She has always enjoyed spinning tales, and turned to writing as a chance to share her stories with a wider audience. Patricia holds a master's degree in Information Technology, and combines her writing witha a full-time career as an I/T Project Manager.

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NO TIME TO DIE
The once mighty kingdom of Jorsk is in decline, its borders beset by enemies, both worldly and otherworldly. The king has retreated to the capital, abandoning the far-flung provinces. The only hope of the people lies in their Chosen One, blessed by the gods as defender of the realm. But of late every Chosen One has died, targeted by the harshest of the enemy attacks.
Only the most desperate of men now seek that post. Devlin Stonehand is a desperate man. Overwhelmed by grief at the death of his family, he has lost the will to live. But he has vowed to provide for his brother's widow and children, and the post of the Chosen One carries with it a substantial reward.
For Devlin, a farmer and metalsmith, it is the answer to his prayers--prayers that include a yearning for the oblivion of death. After he has won the post, though, Devlin discovers that sometimes the hardest goal to achieve is that which had once seemed the simplest. For unlike the other Chosen Ones, he persists in surviving. Are the gods just tormenting him further, or does he have a greater destiny than he imagined? Can a man who courts death ever truly come to embrace life?

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Chapter One


The stranger entered Kingsholm on the third and final day of the midsummer festival. Lesser versions of the festival were celebrated throughout the Kingdom of Jorsk, but here in the capital city, the residents threw themselves into the celebration with an almost maniacal glee.

There was much to celebrate. Under the wise leadership of King Olafur, the residents of Kingsholm had enjoyed another year of peace and prosperity. Only the most bitter and contrary of the elders tried to dampen the celebration by pointing out that in times not so long ago peace and prosperity had been enjoyed throughout the Kingdom. Now, scarce a month went by that they did not hear tales of hardship from the distant corners of Jorsk, stories of failed harvests, attacking marauders, or uncanny plagues. But since these evils had yet to touch the lives of those who lived in the capital, they were deemed of little consequence.

At first the stranger, too, appeared of little consequence. He might have been any trader or farmer, come to Kingsholm to take part in the great celebration. But he did not mingle with the crowds, instead passing through them as if they held no power to touch him.

Devlin Stonehand regarded the celebrating townsfolk with a mix of impatience and dismay. In other circumstances he would have chosen to wait outside the city for another day, until the festival was concluded. But the choice was not his. Without coin in his pocket there was no inn where he could sleep or tavern that would feed him. He had not eaten in two days, and now he had a choice between begging in the streets or going forward to discover whatever fate awaited him at the palace.

As he stepped around a crowd of drunken revelers, Devlin could not help thinking how different it would be in his own country of Duncaer. There any stranger would find himself welcomed for the festival, and offered hospitality. His weeks of travel had taught him not to expect similar treatment in Jorsk.

He had reached the outskirts of Kingsholm at midday, although it was difficult to say where the city actually began, as outlying farms gave way to villages and small shops, which blended seamlessly into the outskirts of the city. It was only when the road widened and he found himself surrounded by crowds that he realized he had reached the great city.

Kingsholm was the most famous city of the realm, and drew people from all corners of the world. It was said that Kingsholm was not one city but three, consisting of the outer city, the old inner city, and finally the palace. Each was contained within the other, yet still held its own separate identity.

The outer city had sprung up around the walls of Kingsholm, as the population swelled beyond what the old city could hold. The nobles had left the inner city to build their grand houses on the north hill. To the east lay the residences of the merchants and most respected of the artisans. The south and west sides were given over to commerce, warehouses, and the large squares where markets and bazaars were held. It was here that the most raucous celebrations were to be found, and it was this quarter that he must cross on his way to the inner city.

Devlin wended his way through the crowds. He made a few wrong turns, and once had to retrace his steps to avoid a religious procession. But he was not lost. From any square he could look north to glimpse the white spires that marked his destination.

A granite wall marked the start of the old city. There was a gate, but no guards stood watch and the gate seemed permanently fixed open. Passing under the arch into the cobbled streets beyond, Devlin was struck at once by the change. Unlike the outer city of wood and brightly painted plaster, the buildings of the inner city were imposing edifices, made of gray-and-white stone. They were well built but had a dingy air, as if the buildings themselves knew that time and fashion had passed them by.

There were fewer people on the streets here, and those he saw did not seem to be actively celebrating.

Devlin paused to get his bearings. With the stone buildings looming over him, he could no longer see the spires of the palace.

An elderly woman followed him through the gates, then stopped. "Lost are you?" she asked.

"No," Devlin said shortly.

The woman regarded Devlin skeptically. "You are not here for the festival."

It was an easy deduction. Devlin had been traveling for near three months, and his cloak and boots showed every mile of his journey.

Devlin could make no guess as to the woman's station. She appeared well-groomed, but he knew too little of the city to guess whether her clothes were fashionable attire or merely the livery of service.

"I need to find the palace," Devlin finally admitted.

The woman regarded him critically. "Of course," she said, with a decisive nod. "Dressed for hard travel, and not a smile on your face nor a glass of summer wine in your hand. It must be grim news indeed that make you seek the help of the Chosen One."

Devlin did not respond. Let her guess what she would. He had no desire to explain himself to her, or to anyone. He bent his head in courteous dismissal, and made as if to move off.

She stopped him, laying one hand on his arm, her eyes now filled with pity. "I did not mean to offend you. There is no Chosen in the city now. But if you go to the palace and ask for Captain Drakken, she will give you what help she may. Just follow this street till you reach the square of the fountain. Take the right-hand lane leading out of the square. Pass the Temple of the Heavenly Couple, then take your second left turning. It will be a wide boulevard and take you straight up to the palace."

"Thank you," he said stiffly.

He passed through two smaller squares before he found the large square with a fountain. Ornate residences surrounded the square, and from behind their high walls he could hear music and laughter and the sounds of families gathered in celebration.

He began walking more quickly, eager to have this journey over. He found the boulevard, just as the woman had said. It was paved with white stone blocks that looked freshly swept. Strange trees with golden leaves lined either side of the wide roadway, which led up the hill to the palace.

The palace dominated the central hill of Kingsholm. As Devlin approached, he felt a growing sense of his own insignificance. The palace was larger than many of the villages he had passed through on his journey.

This was no place for him, a simple man from a poor country. The residents of that splendid palace had no need for such as he. They would mock him, disdain his quest. He should turn back.

But there was nothing to turn back to. And so he plodded on.

At the end of the boulevard was a wide iron gate that opened onto the palace grounds. As in the city below, the gates stood wide open, but here they were flanked by two guards dressed in dark green uniforms.

"Halt," the guards said in unison, each leaning his spear so that they crossed in the middle, thus barring the way. The guards were both young men. Their uniforms were so well kept they looked new made, with every buckle gleaming. In addition to their spears, they wore short swords in their belts. They eyed him watchfully, but their posture was relaxed, indicating that they thought him no real threat.

Devlin came forward till just a single pace separated him from the guards. Then he stopped.

"State your business," the guard on the left said.

Devlin looked them over. The guards appeared to be the same age, but the one on his left wore a silver cord on his sleeve. At this range he could see they were very young indeed. Both...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Spectra
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2002
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0553584758
• ISBN 13: 9780553584752
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 416
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar