About the Author

Lynn Flewelling is best known for her Nightrunner series, as well as the Tamir Triad, and her work appears in a dozen languages. She also maintains a lively online presence with her website and her Live Journal, “Talk in the Shadows.” Born in northern Maine, Flewelling is happily transplanted in Redlands, California, with her husband and too many animals.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

*Chapter One

Safe Harbor*

DYING—even for just a little while—took a lot out of a person. Alec and his companions had arrived in Gedre last night and Alec had managed to stay on his horse as they rode up from the harbor to the clan house, but he’d spoiled it by fainting in the courtyard. Mydri had taken one sharp look at him and packed him off to bed in a room overlooking the harbor. And when their host saw Sebrahn, Riagil í Molan had ordered that the rhekaro stay hidden, too. Given Sebrahn’s strange appearance, Alec could hardly blame him. 

Winter rain lashed against the window across the room and the wind moaned in the chimney. Gedre harbor was barely visible, the ships anchored there just dark smudges in the mist. After their stormy crossing from Plenimar, it was rather nice to be in a soft bed that didn’t roll under him. He had no idea what time it was. When he’d awakened, Seregil was already gone, no doubt to speak with his sisters or their host, the khirnari. 

Sebrahn was curled up on the cushions of the window seat, gazing out—though at what it was impossible to say. The rhekaro might haveAlec’s childhood features, but it was impossible to pass him off as an ordinary child. His pale, silver-white hair hung nearly to the floor behind him. His white skin looked ghostly in the grey light, and his silver eyes were the color of steel. Riagil’s wife, Yhali, had replaced the rags Sebrahn had arrived in with soft Aurënfaie tunics, knitted stockings, and shoes that fit him, though Sebrahn seemed confused by the latter and kept taking them off. Just as any little child might do— *

But he’s not a child, is he? *

Pushing that thought away, Alec reached for the mug Mydri had left on the bedside table and sipped the medicinal broth. His hand shook a bit, spilling a few drops down the front of his nightshirt. 

He and Seregil had been in desperate condition when Micum and Thero had found them in Plenimar, but Sebrahn had been even worse. He was made of magic and had used a staggering amount to kill their pursuers in the Plenimaran wilderness, bring Alec back from Bilairy’s gate, and heal both Seregil and Alec. For the first few days of the voyage they feared that the wizened, depleted little rhekaro might have used himself up. Too weak to get out of his bunk, Alec had fed Sebrahn several times a day, squeezing blood from his fingertip onto the rhekaro’s little grey tongue.After a few days of this Sebrahn grew more alert and continued to improve. And today he seemed nearly himself again. 

Alec wondered how long Riagil and Mydri were going to keep him shut away up here. His long linen nightshirt was fresh, but he hadn’t had a proper bath since they’d escaped from the alchemist’s villa almost two weeks ago. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, which hung halfway down his back—lank and dirty. His fingers caught in snarls and tangles. Stretching out one long blond strand, he wondered—not for the first time—whether he should just cut it off, as Seregil had sacrificed his during their escape. Sebrahn was squirming around now. One by one, the borrowed shoes fell to the floor. The alchemist, Charis Yhakobin, had created the rhekaro to be nothing more than a sexless, voiceless tool—one whose unnatural flesh and strange white blood could, according to Yhakobin, be distilled for some kind of potent elixir. But Sebrahn and his illfated predecessor had been much more than that. Sebrahn might be sexless, but he was not voiceless, or mindless, either. 

“What do you see?” asked Alec. 

Sebrahn turned to look at him. “Ahek.” 

Alec chuckled. His name had been Sebrahn’s first halting word. Since then, he’d managed a few more for people, things, and a few actions. Understanding was another matter. Strangely, it didn’t seem to matter whether you spoke Skalan, ’faie, or Plenimaran to him. Tell him cup, *tyxa, or kupa, and if there was one in the room, he would fetch it. Sebrahn left the window seat and joined Alec on the bed, leaning against his side. Alec touched the rhekaro’s soft, cool little hand, noting the thin scars that ringed the base of several fingers where they’d grown back after Yhakobin cut them off for some experiment. 

Why didn’t you sing to save yourself? *

Alec gathered him close again, his heart beating a little faster. “No one is going to hurt you again, or take you away. If they try, we’ll leave.” 

Sebrahn looked around the room, then pointed out the window and said in his raspy little voice, “Leeeve.” 

“That’s right. On a ship. Can you say ‘ship’?” 

Sebrahn was not interested. 

“Chamber pot.” 

The rhekaro slipped off the bed and pulled the required vessel from under the bed. Alec made use of it and had Sebrahn put it back for the skutter to deal with. Now what? There didn’t appear to be anything he could do but watch the rain. It was a relief when he heard someone coming up the stairs to his door. 

Micum looked in and grinned. “That’s a long face!” 

“Where is everybody?” 

Micum came in and pulled a chair up beside the bed. “At breakfast. I came up to see if you’re awake. Hungry?” 

“Not really.” 

Micum held out his hands, and Sebrahn abandoned Alec for the big man’s lap. 

“Traitor,” Alec grumbled. Sebrahn had warmed to their tall, red-haired friend during the voyage. Sebrahn reached up to touch Micum’s thick, grey-streaked moustache, apparently puzzled that the big man had something on his face that his two beardless protectors didn’t.

“Uncle Micum,” Alec said with a smile. 

Micum laughed and kissed Sebrahn’s hand, just as if he were one of his own brood. “I like the sound of that. What do you say, little sprout?” 

Sebrahn didn’t say anything, just leaned against Micum’s broad chest and fixed his gaze on Alec. It was too easy to imagine anything he wanted in those eyes. What Sebrahn was really feeling—or if he could—remained a mystery. Alec and Micum were in the midst of a game of cards when Seregil came in with the wizards. Magyana looked most of her two centuries today; under a fringe of grey bangs, her lined face was pale and tired, but her eyes were kind as always. Thero, still in the youth of his first century, was tall and dark, with a thin beard and dark curling hair pulled back from a long, somewhat austere face. But his pale green eyes were warm, too, as he took in the sight of Alec and Sebrahn. 

“We need to talk,” Seregil said, sitting down on the bed beside Alec. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Micum said, putting Sebrahn on the bed and rising to go. 

“Please, stay,” said Thero. “We have no secrets from you in this matter.” 

This sounded serious, and all the more so when Magyana threw the latch and cast a warding on the room to keep out prying ears. 

“Now then, this creature—” she began, her lined face somber. 

“Please don’t call him that,” said Alec. “He’s a person and he has a name.” 

“He is not a person, my dear,” Magyana told him gently. 

“You may be right about the rest of it, but he’s not human, or ’faie, either.” 

“There’s something we need to tell you,” said Thero. 

“What is it?” 

“Thero sensed it, but not clearly, when he first saw Sebrahn in Plenimar,” Magyana explained. “It’s true that the rhekaro has been given the semblance of a child, but another form radiates beyond the physical. I don’t understand it, but what I see around him is the form of a young dragon.” 

Alec stared hard at Sebrahn, squinting his eyes, but saw nothing unusual. “A dragon? That’s impossible! Sebrahn was made from bits of—me!” Seregil was frowning at the younger wizard. “Why didn’t you tell us, Thero?” 

“I wasn’t sure what I was sensing. It’s Magyana who sees it clearly.” 

Magyana took Alec’s hand in hers. “Seregil has told me something of how Sebrahn was made. I believe you can tell me more. Do you know what materials he used?” Alec shifted uneasily; it was a time he didn’t really want to remember. “Sulfur and salt, tinctures—” 

“Nothing of dragons?” 

“I saw dried fingerling dragons hanging in his workshop, but I didn’t see him put any in.” 

“Very well. What else do you remember?” 

“There was something he called the ‘water of life’—some kind of silver, I think.” 

“Quicksilver?” asked Magyana. 

“Yes, that was it. He put that all in with my tears, blood, shit and piss, hair, and ...

From Booklist

Emulating You've Got to Read This (1994), this sizable collection consists of stories that influenced famous writers during their upbringings. The difference is that this is a genre anthology and the influenced authors in question are the editors; these are their personal favorites. Given those limitations, the chosen tales are varied and entertaining, and the work of relative unknowns as well as late, great genre veterans. The enduring classics include Arthur C. Clarke's "Rescue Party," featuring aliens who scour Earth for survivors before the sun goes nova; John W. Campbell's "Who Goes There?" which inspired the Hollywood monster flick The Thing; and Isaac Asimov's "The Last Question," which speculatively traces the evolution of computer intelligence into the far future. One surprising entry is an early sf tale on interstellar exploration by Pulitzer Prize-winning historical novelist Michael Shaara. With the emphasis on pulp sf from the 1940s and '50s, fans get to discover some lost gems among the forgotten (and remembered) classics. Carl Hays
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

About the Author

David Drake was attending Duke University Law School when he was drafted. He served the next two years in the Army, spending 1970 as an enlisted interrogator with the 11th armored Cavalry in Viet Nam and Cambodia. Upon return he completed his law degree at Duke and was for eight years Assistant Town Attorney for Chapel Hill, North Carolina. He has been a full-time freelance writer since 1981. Besides the bestselling Hammer's Slammers series, his books for Baen include With the Lightnings and its sequel Lt. Leary, Commanding, Ranks of Bronze, Starliner, All the Way to the Gallows, Redliners, and many more. His most recent novels are Paying the Piper, a new Hammer's Slammers novel, and The Far Side of the Stars, the latest in the popular Lt. Leary series.

Jim Baen has been the editor of Galaxy magazine, of Ace Books, of Tor Books, and has for two decades helmed Baen Books, a powerhouse in science fiction publishing and the world's leading publisher of military science fiction.

Eric Flint's impressive first novel, Mother of Demons (Baen), was selected by SF Chronicle as one of the best novels of 1997. His next solo novel, 1632, sold out its first hardcover printing and went back to press almost immediately, and received enthusiastic critical praise. With David Drake he has written five popular novels in the Belisarius series. Flint has also begun a highly-praised fantasy adventure series, so far comprising The Philosophical Strangler and Forward the Mage. Flint received his masters degree in history from UCLA and was for many years a labor union activist. He lives in East Chicago, IN, with his wife.

An intriguing mystery from this popular author - James Markham jilts his fiance for a woman about whom he appears to know very little. Callum Firbank has always been evasive about his childhood, and his wife realises she knows little about her husbands upbringing or family. Jill Irving has everything she could wish for, but she, too, has secrets in her past. What links these three very different people, and who is the mysterious stranger whose appearance in their lives seems to cause such terror?

** Jeannie Ferrami, is a young professor at Jones Falls University who is investigating the balance of nature versus nurture in criminality. Driven by a secret from her past, Dr. Ferrami is overjoyed to find that a straight-arrow law student at JFU has an identical twin (raised separately) who is a convicted rapist. She is not overjoyed, however, when that man is arrested for raping her best friend. Surely Mr. Perfect couldn't be guilty--enter the evil masterminds, three Nixon-era compadres who have been toiling for decades to make America safe for racial purity. It's bad enough that one of the conspirators is Dr. Ferrami's boss, but another is eyeing the Oval Office. The young professor has stumbled onto a secret that could ruin them all, and it's only a matter of pages before bad things start to happen to the pair. 

Part vampire, the only thing greater than Ava Delaney's thirst for human blood is her capacity for guilt. When she accidentally turns a human into her minion, she does her best to set him free - but her attempts land her in the middle of a potential vampire civil war. With the help of some new friends with ambiguous loyalties, Ava tries to save her human . . . and herself.<

Review

"Fallon begins her latest epic asking the question of how an immortal, tired of immortality, might find his way to death? With her vivid style and snappy dialogue, Fallon embarks on a rollercoaster ride of mortal and immortal machinations, as the ruthless and immoral Tide Lords emerge from a thousand years of hiding into a world where everyone has attributed the stories of their existence to myth. Everyone, that is, but the mysterious and secretive Cabal, who watch and wait in the shadows, searching for a way to protect humanity from the Tide Lords’ return."-- Nexus on The Immortal Prince

"Well crafted entertainment."--Kirkus on Harshini

"Readers with a taste for detail and complicated plots will enjoy this story."--VOYA on Wolfblade

"Fallon sets the stage for another lively fantasy saga full of intriguing characters, smart dialogue and twisty plotting."--Publishers Weekly on Wolfblade

“A warm and intriguing book with all-too-human characters who draw you in more deeply with each page.”--L.E. Modesitt, Jr. on Medalon

"A well-executed fantasy with complex characters and entertaining style."--Kirkus Reviews on Treason Keep

"The battles are fierce, the losses heartrending in Fallon's beautifully created world, whose disparate inhabitants are once again completely convincing, making Harshini a chilling, thrilling conclusion to the trilogy."--Booklist on Harshini

About the Author

Jennifer Fallon is the award-winning author of The Hythrun Chronicles, and one of Australia's bestselling fantasy authors. She lives in Australia.

From Booklist

The third installment of this outstanding quartet continues on with engrossing situations and well-developed, evolving characters. As the book starts, all the major players are in far-flung locations although their paths eventually converge. Arkady has been sold into slavery and en route to Senestra becomes the personal slave of a diabolical physician; Declan Hawkes, the former Glaeban Spymaster, has discovered a secret in his ancestry that will change his life forever; Stellan is plotting a comeback; Warlock and Boots go undercover as crasii slaves to some Tide Lords; and chameleon crasii Tiji has found a hidden homeland. Despite the vast array of characters and the intricate politics and mythology in this hefty page-turner, it is so captivating one doesn't want it to end. --Diana Tixier Herald

Review

“Will keep you turning pages to the end, leaving you wanting more when you reach the final page.”--RT Book Reviews (4 stars) on The Gods of Amyrnatha

“With snappy dialogue and deft characterizations, Fallon neatly pulls the story threads together into a multihued tapestry of myth, deceit and ambition."--*Publishers Weekly on The Immortal Prince
*
“A gratifying yarn.”--Kirkus Reviews on The Immortal Prince

"The Tide Lords have gathered in Jelidia and learn that in order for Cayal to die, they must open a rift to another world. Before they can do this, however, they must find the Chaos Crystal that brought them to this world. As they set off in search of it, they head to Glaeba, where Arkady has been captured by one of the Tide Lords, Jaxyn. Managing to escape, she flees to the city of Caelum to find her husband, Stellan. Instead, she runs into the Scard Crasii, Warlock, and learns that Elyssa, Warlock's cruel immortal mistress, knows the location of the invaluable Chaos Crystal. With every immortal on Amyrantha searching for the crystal, the stakes are very high. But if they do manage to open a rift where will it take the survivors?"--Provided by publisher.<

A devastating memoir of stolen childhood, Tiger, Tiger has sold in 19 countries and is poised to be an international sensation.

One summer day, Margaux Fragoso swam up to Peter Curran at a public swimming pool and asked him to play. She was seven; he was fifty-one. When Curran invited her and her mom to see his house, the little girl found a child's dream world, full of odd pets and books and music and magical toys. Margaux's mother was devoted, but, beset by mental illness and frightened of her abusive husband, she was only too ready to take advantage of an escape for the daughter she felt incapable of taking care of on her own. Soon Margaux was spending all her time with Peter, and any suspected signs of child abuse were overlooked.

In time, Peter insidiously took on the role of Margaux's playmate, father, lover and captor. Charming and repulsive, warm and violent, loving and manipulative, Peter burrowed into every aspect of...<

From the acclaimed master of mystery and suspense comes the story of a self-imposed outcast who must refresh his detection skills in order to save himself and his family.<