Rarely has a young writer won a place among the major talents in fantasy fiction as quickly as James Clemens. In the first four novels of his breathtaking epic, The Banned and the Banished, Clemens has woven an ever-deepening spell of wonderment with his boundless imagination and matchless storytelling gifts. Now he brings his saga to a masterful and breathtaking climax as the wit'ch Elena faces the unmasked evil of the Dark Lord for the final time in a cataclysmic conclusion that will shatter her understanding of all that has gone before. . . . The three deadly Weirgates are destroyed but the threat of the Dark Lord remains. And so Elena and her companions have gone their separate ways to prepare for what is yet to come. Elena herself has journeyed to the beautiful city of A'loa Glen, there to recover her strength and spirit.
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1 . Awesome!
Posted February 17, 2010 by Heather , BrocktonThis book was phenomenal, I loved every page. I was not able to put these books down until I finished them. These books come HIGHLY recommended to anyone who loves fantasy stories. So intriguing!!
November 03, 2003
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Excerpt from Wit'ch Star by James Clemens
Seated on the Rosethorn Throne, Elena studied the riddle be- fore her. The small stranger, dressed in a patchwork of silks and linens, appeared just a boy with his smooth and unlined face-but he was clearly no youngster. His manner was too calm under the gazes of those gathered in the Great Hall. His eyes glinted with sarcastic amusement, bitter and road-worn. And the set of his lips, shadowing a smile, remained both hard and cold.
Elena felt a twinge of unease near the man, despite his illusion of innocence.
The stranger dropped to one knee before her, sweeping off his foppish hat. Scores of bells-tin, silver, gold, and copper, sewn throughout his clothes-jangled brightly.
A taller figure stepped to the tiny man's side-Prince Tylamon Royson, lord of Castle Mryl to the north. The prince-turned-pirate had forgone his usual finery and wore scuffed boots and a salt-scarred black cloak. His cheeks were ruddy, and his sandy hair was unkempt. He had arrived at the island's docks with the rising sun, requesting immediate audience with Elena and the war council.
The prince bowed to one knee, then motioned to the stranger. "May I present Harlequin Quail He has come far, with news you should hear."
Elena motioned for them both to stand. "Rise, Lord Tyrus. Be welcome." She studied the newcomer as he rose to his feet amid another chorus of jingling. The man had indeed come from afar. His face was oddly complexioned: a paleness that bordered on blue, as if he were forever suffocating. But it was the hue of his eyes that was the most striking-a shining gold, full of a wry slyness.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you so early on this summer morning," Lord Tyrus intoned formally, straightening his disheveled cloak as if noticing for the first time his sorry state.
Er'ril, Elena's liegeman and husband, spoke from his station beside the throne. "What is this urgency, Lord Tyrus We have no time for fools and jesters."
Elena did not have to glance to the side to know the Standi plainsman wore his usual hard scowl. She had seen it often enough over the last two moons as sour tidings had been flowing into Alasea: supply chains to the island cut off by monsters and strange weather; townships struck by fires and plagues; ill-shaped beasts roaming the countryside.
But the worst tidings struck closer to home.
Elementals, those rare folk tuned to the Land's energy, were succumbing to some dread malaise. The mer'ai were losing their sea sense and their link to their dragons; the elv'in ships could not fly as high or far; and now Nee'lahn reported that the voice of her lute was growing weaker as the tree spirit faded inside. Clearly whatever damage had been inflicted upon the Land by the Weirgates was continuing its onslaught. Elemental magicks waned as if from a bleeding wound.
As a consequence, the press of dwindling time weighed upon them all. If they were to act against the Gul'gotha, it must be soon-before their own forces weakened further, before the gifts of the Land faded completely away. But their armies were spread wide. As matters stood, the campaign against the Dark Lord's stronghold, the volcanic Blackhall, could begin no sooner than next spring. Er'ril said it would take until midwinter to position all their armies; and an assault upon the island then, when the northern seas were beset with savage storms, would give the advantage to Blackhall.
So spring at the earliest, when the winter storms died away.