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Elven Star: The Death Gate Cycle, Volume 2 (A Death Gate Novel, Band 2) - Softcover

Buch 2 von 7: Death Gate

Weis, Margaret; Hickman, Tracy

 
9780553290981: Elven Star: The Death Gate Cycle, Volume 2 (A Death Gate Novel, Band 2)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0553290983 ISBN 13: 9780553290981
Verlag: Random House Worlds, 1991

Inhaltsangabe

On steamy Pryan, never-ending sunlight and plentiful rain have created a jungle so vast that humans and elves dwell high in the trees and only dwarves live anywhere near the ground. From the treetops the aristocratic elves sell weapons to the other races, whose incessant warfare sends a steady steam of profits and essential resources skyward. Now, generations of dissent and race hatred will not heal -- not even under the threat of annihilation at the hands of legendary Titans. Armed with little more than their wits and prophecy, an elf, a human, and a dwarf must unite to try to save the world from destruction.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman published their first novel in the Dragonlance Chronicles series, Dragons of Autumn Twilight, in 1984. More than thirty-five years later, they have collaborated on more than thirty novels together in many different fantasy worlds. Hickman is currently working with his son, Curtis Hickman, for The VOID, creating stories and designs for whole-body, fully immersive VR experience. Weis teaches the competitive dog racing sport flyball. She and Hickman are working on future novels in this series.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

On steamy Pryan, never-ending sunlight and plentiful rain have created a jungle so vast that humans and elves dwell high in the trees and only dwarves live anywhere near the ground. From the treetops the aristocratic elves sell weapons to the other races, whose incessant warfare sends a steady steam of profits and essential resources skyward. Now, generations of dissent and race hatred will not heal -- not even under the threat of annihilation at the hands of legendary Titans. Armed with little more than their wits and prophecy, an elf, a human, and a dwarf must unite to try to save the world from destruction.

Aus dem Klappentext

On steamy Pryan, never-ending sunlight and plentiful rain have created a jungle so vast that humans and elves dwell high in the trees and only dwarves live anywhere near the ground. From the treetops the aristocratic elves sell weapons to the other races, whose incessant warfare sends a steady steam of profits and essential resources skyward. Now, generations of dissent and race hatred will not heal -- not even under the threat of annihilation at the hands of legendary Titans. Armed with little more than their wits and prophecy, an elf, a human, and a dwarf must unite to try to save the world from destruction.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

CALANDRA QUINDINIAR SAT AT THE HUGE POLISHED SCROLL DESK ADDING up the last month’s earnings. Her white fingers darted rapidly over the abacus, sliding the beads up and down, muttering the figures aloud to herself as she wrote them in the old leather-bound ledger. Her handwriting was much like herself: thin, upright, precise, and easy to read.
 
Above her head whirled four plumes made of swans’ feathers, keeping the air moving. Despite the suffocating midcycle heat outside, the interior of the house was cool. It stood on the highest elevation in the city and so obtained the breeze that otherwise was often lost in the jungle vegetation.
 
The house was the largest in the city, next to the royal palace. (Lenthan Quindiniar had the money to build his house larger than the royal palace, but he was a modest elf and knew his place.) The rooms were spacious and airy with high ceilings and numerous windows and the magical system of flutterfans, at least one in every room. The living rooms were on the second floor and were open and beautifully furnished. Drawn shades darkened and cooled them during bright hours of the cycle. During stormtime, the shades were raised to catch the refreshing, rain-drenched breezes.
 
Calandra’s younger brother, Paithan, sat in a rocking chair near the desk. He rocked lazily back and forth, a palm fan in his hand, and watched the rotation of the swans’ wings above his sister’s head. Several other fans were visible to him from the study—the fan in the living room and beyond that the fan in the dining area. He watched them all waft through the air and between the rhythmic flutter of the wings and the clicking of the beads of the abacus and the gentle creaking of his chair, he fell into an almost hypnotic trance.
 
A violent explosion that shook the three-level house jolted Paithan upright.
 
“Damn,” he said, looking irritably at a fine sifting of plaster1 that was falling from the ceiling into his iced drink.
 
His sister snorted and said nothing. She had paused to blow plaster off the page of the ledger, but did not miss a figure. A wail of terror could be heard, coming from the level down below.
 
“That’ll be the new scullery maid,” said Paithan, rising to his feet. “I better go and comfort her, tell her it’s only father—”
 
“You’ll do no such thing,” snapped Calandra, neither raising her head nor ceasing to write. “You’ll sit right there and wait until I’m finished so that we can go over your next trip norinth. It’s little enough you do to earn your keep, idling about with your noble friends, doing Orn knows what. Besides, the new girl’s a human and an ugly one at that.”
 
Calandra returned to her addition and subtraction. Paithan subsided good-naturedly back into his chair.
 
I might have known, he reflected, that if Calandra’d hire a human at all the girl’d be some little pig-faced wretch. That’s sisterly love for you. Ah, well, I’ll be on the road soon and then what dear Cal doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
 
Paithan rocked, his sister muttered, the fans whirred contentedly.
 
The elves revere life and so magically endow it on nearly all their creations. The feathers were under the illusion that they were still attached to the swan. Paithan, watching them, thought that this might be a good analogy for their entire family. They were all under the illusion that they were still attached to something, perhaps even each other.
 
His peaceful reverie was interrupted by the appearance of a charred, singed, and disheveled man, who bounded into the room, rubbing his hands.
 
“That was a good one, don’t you think?” he said.
 
The man was short, for an elf, and had obviously once been robustly plump. The flesh had begun to sag lately; the skin had turned sallow and slightly puffy. Though it could not be told beneath the soot, the gray hair standing up around a large bald spot on his head revealed that he was in his middle years. Other than his graying hair, it might have been difficult to guess the elf’s age because his face was smooth and unwrinkled—too smooth. His eyes were bright—too bright. He rubbed his hands and looked anxiously from daughter to son.
 
“That was a good one, wasn’t it?” he repeated.
 
“Sure, Guvnor,” said Paithan in good-humored agreement. “Nearly knocked me over backward.”
 
Lenthan Quindiniar smiled jerkily.
 
“Calandra?” he persisted.
 
“You’ve sent the kitchen help into hysterics and put new cracks in the ceiling, if that’s what you mean, Father,” retorted Calandra, snapping the beads together viciously.
 
“You’ve made a mistake!” squeaked the abacus suddenly.
 
Calandra glared at it, but the abacus held firm. “Fourteen thousand six hundred eighty-five add twenty-seven is not fourteen thousand six hundred twelve. It’s fourteen thousand seven hundred twelve. You’ve neglected to carry the one.”
 
“I’m surprised I can still reckon at all! See what you’ve done, Father?” Calandra demanded.
 
Lenthan appeared rather downcast for a moment, but he cheered up almost immediately.
 
“It won’t be long now,” he said, rubbing his hands. “That last one lifted the rocket above my head. I think I’m close to discovering the proper mixture. I’ll be in the laboratory, my dears, if anyone needs me.”
 
“That’s likely!” muttered Calandra.
 
“Oh, ease up on the guvnor,” said Paithan, watching with some amusement as the elf wound his way vaguely around the assortment of fine furnishings to disappear through a door at the back of the dining area. “Would you rather have him the way he was after Mother died?”
 
“I’d rather have him sane, if that’s what you mean, but I suppose that’s too much to ask! Between Thea’s gallivanting and Papa’s idiocy, we’re the laughing stock of the city.”
 
“Don’t worry, Sister dear. The people may snigger but, with you scooping up the money of the Lords of Thillia, they do so behind their hands. Besides, if the guvnor was sane he’d be back in the business.”
 
“Humpf,” snorted Calandra. “And don’t use that slang talk. You know I can’t abide it. It’s what comes of hanging around with that crowd of yours. Idle, time-wasting bunch of—”
 
“Wrong!” informed the abacus. “It’s supposed to be—”
 
“I’ll do it!” Calandra frowned over her latest entry and irritably went back to add up her figures again.
 
“Let that … that thing there do the work,” suggested Paithan, motioning to the abacus.
 
“I don’t trust machines. Hush up!” Calandra snarled when her brother would have spoken.
 
Paithan sat quietly for several moments, fanning himself and wondering if he had the energy to call for the servant to bring him a fresh glass of vindrech—one that didn’t have plaster in it. But it was against the young elf’s nature to be silent for long.
 
“Speaking of Thea, where is she?” he asked, peering about as if he expected to see her emerge from under one of the antimacassars.
 
...

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Verlag
Random House Worlds
Erscheinungsdatum
1991
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0553290983
ISBN 13 
9780553290981
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
400
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

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