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A Knight of the Word (Word and the Void, Band 2) - Hardcover

Buch 2 von 3: Pre-Shannara: Word and Void

Brooks, Terry

 
9780345379634: A Knight of the Word (Word and the Void, Band 2)
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0345379632 ISBN 13: 9780345379634
Verlag: Del Rey, 1998

Inhaltsangabe

The sequel to the best-selling Running with the Demon continues the time-travel, good- versus-evil story of Welshman John Ross, possessor of the black runestaff, as he confronts a supernatural evil.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

A writer since high school, Terry Brooks published his first novel, The Sword of Shannara, in 1977. It became the first work of fiction ever to appear on the New York Times Paperback Bestseller List, where it remained for more than five months. He has published fourteen consecutive bestselling novels since.

The author was a practicing attorney for many years but now writes full-time. He lives with his wife, Judine, in the Pacific Northwest and Hawaii.

Aus dem Klappentext

string of fourteen national bestsellers has established Terry Brooks as today's leading voice in fantasy fiction, a writer whose magical creations and characters are beloved the world over. Now, in this no-holds-barred battle between good and evil, the dazzling sequel to his bestselling Running with the Demon, Brooks surpasses even himself.

In the eleventh century the Welsh hero Owain Glyndwr was chosen to combat the demonic evil of the Void and disappeared from history to fulfill that mission. Armed with powerful magic, Glyndwr became a Knight of the Word--a draining and demanding legacy passed on eight centuries later to John Ross, a professor of English literature on tour in Wales.

In accepting the black runestaff that channeled the magic of the Word, John Ross accepted a solemn trust--and an awful burden. Each night he dreams of hellish futures wrought upon the world by the Void. And each dream is of a future that will come to pass unless Ross prevents it in the present.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

It was dawn when she woke, the sky just beginning to brighten in the east,
night's shadows still draping the trunks and limbs of the big shade trees
in inky layers. She lay quietly for a time, looking through her curtained
window as the day advanced, aware of a gradual change in the light that
warmed the cool darkness of her bedroom. From beneath the covers she
listened to the sounds of the morning. She could hear birdsong in
counterpoint to the fading hum of tires as a car sped down Woodlawn's
blacktop toward the highway. She could hear small creaks and mutterings
from the old house, some of them so familiar that she remembered them from
her childhood. She could hear the sound of voices, of Gran and Old Bob,
whispering to each other in the kitchen as they drank their morning coffee
and waited for her to come out for breakfast.



But the voices were only in her mind, of course. Old Bob and Gran were
gone.



Nest Freemark rose to a sitting position, drew up her long legs to her
chest, rested her forehead against her knees, and closed her eyes. Gone.
Both of them. Gran for five years and Old Bob since May. It was hard to
believe, even now. She wished every day that she could have them back
again. Even for five minutes. Even for five seconds.



The sounds of the house wrapped her, small and comforting, all part of her
nineteen years of life. She had always lived in this house, right up to
the day she had left for college in September of last year, a freshman on
a full ride at one of the most prestigious schools in the country.
Northwestern University. Her grandfather had been so proud, telling her
she should remember she had earned the right to attend this school, but
the school, in turn, had merited her interest, so both of them should get
something out of the bargain. He had laughed, his voice low and deep, his
strong hands coming about her shoulders to hold her, and she had known
instinctively that he was holding her for Gran, as well.



Now he was gone, dead of a heart attack three days before the end of her
first year, gone in a moment, the doctor said afterward--no pain, no
suffering, the way it should be. She had come to accept the doctor's
reassurance, but it didn't make her miss her grandfather any the less.
With both Gran and Old Bob gone, and her parents gone longer still, she
had only herself to rely upon.



But, then, she supposed in a way that had always been so.



She lifted her head and smiled. It was how she had grown up, wasn't it?
Learning to be alone, to be independent, to accept that she would never be
like any other child?



She ticked off the ways in which she was different, running through them
in a familiar litany that helped define and settle the borders of her life.



She could do magic--had been able to do magic for a long time. It had
frightened her at first, confused and troubled her, but she had learned to
adapt to the magic's demands, taught first by Gran, who had once had use
of the magic herself, and later by Pick. She had learned to control and
nurture it, to find a place for it in her life without letting it consume
her. She had discovered how to maintain the balance within herself in the
same way that Pick was always working to maintain the balance in the park.



Pick, her best friend, was a six-inch-high sylvan, a forest creature who
looked for the most part like something a child had made of the discards
of a bird's nest, with body and limbs of twigs and hair and beard of moss.
Pick was the guardian of Sinnissippi Park, sent to keep in balance the
magic that permeated all things and to hold in check the feeders that
worked to upset that balance. It was a big job for a lone sylvan, as he
was fond of saying, and over the years various generations of the Freemark
women had helped him. Nest was the latest. Perhaps she would be the last.



There was her family, of course. Gran had possessed the magic, as had
others of the Freemark women before her. Not Old Bob, who had struggled
all his life to accept that the magic even existed. Maybe not her mother,
who had died three months after Nest was born and whose life remained an
enigma. But her father ... She shook her head at the walls. Her father.
She didn't like to think of him, but he was a fact of her life, and there
was enough time and distance between them now that she could accept what
he had been. A demon. A monster. A seducer. The killer of both her mother
and her grandmother. Dead now, destroyed by his own ambition and hate, by
Gran's magic and his own, by Nest's determination, and by Wraith.



Wraith. She looked out the window in the diminishing shadows and shivered.
The ways in which she had been different from other children began and
ended with Wraith.



She sighed and shook her head mockingly. Enough of that sort of rumination.



She rose and walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, let it run
hot, and stepped in. She stood with her eyes closed and the water
streaming over her, lost in the heat and the damp. She was nineteen and
stood just under five feet ten inches. Her honey-colored hair was still
short and curly, but most of her freckles were gone. Her green eyes
dominated her smooth, round face. Her body was lean and fit. She was the
best middle-distance runner ever to come out of the state of Illinois and
one of the best in history. She didn't think about her talent much, but it
was always there, in much the same way as her magic. She wondered often if
her running ability was tied in some way to her use of the magic. There
was no obvious connection and even Pick tended to brush the suggestion
aside, but she wondered anyway. She had been admitted to Northwestern on a
full track-and-field scholarship. Her grades were good, but it was her
athletic skills that got her in. She had won several middle-distance
events at last spring's NCAA track-and-field championships. She had
already broken several college records and one world. In two years the
summer Olympics would be held in Melbourne, Australia. Nest Freemark was
expected to contend for a medal in multiple running events. She was
expected to win at least one gold.



She turned off the shower, stepped out onto the mat, grabbed a towel, and
dried herself off. She tried not to think about the Olympics too often. It
was too distant in time and too mind-boggling to consider. She had learned
a hard lesson when she was fourteen and her father had revealed himself
for what he was. Never take anything in your life for granted; always be
prepared for radical change.



Besides, there were more pressing problems just now. There was school; she
had to earn grades high enough to allow her to continue to train and to
compete. There was Pick, who was persistent and unending in his demand
that she give more of her time and effort to helping him with the
park--which seemed silly until she listened to his reasoning.



And, right at the moment, there was the matter of the house.



She dressed slowly, thinking of the house, which was the reason she was
home this weekend when her time would have been better spent at school,
studying. With her grandfather's death, the house and all of its
possessions had passed to her. She had spent the summer going through it,
room by room, closet by closet, cataloguing, boxing, packing, and sorting
what would stay and go. It was her home, but she was barely there enough
to look after it properly and, Pick's...

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Verlag
Del Rey
Erscheinungsdatum
1998
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0345379632
ISBN 13 
9780345379634
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
309
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Del Rey
https://www.penguin.co.uk/company/publishers/cornerstone/del-rey-uk

Attn: Andrea T Sheridan 1745 BROADWAY, 14-1
NEW YORK
NY
10019
USA
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