The D’Karon Apprentice is the long awaited sequel to the acclaimed epic fantasy, The Book of Deacon Trilogy. It is a direct follow up to The Battle of Verril.
It has been months since the Chosen finally defeated the D’Karon and the Perpetual War came to an end. Once warriors, Myranda, Deacon, Ivy, and Ether must now take on the role of diplomats in the ongoing task of preserving the unsteady peace between the lands of Tressor and the Northern Alliance. Generations of war have left a deep distrust between the people on both sides of the border, and any sign of treachery or hostility could cause a new war to flare. If that happens, the weakened Northern Alliance will have little hope to survive against the military might of their neighbor to the south.
A mysterious figure, long slumbering and forgotten, has stirred in the wake of the Chosen triumph. She is not pleased to find the D’Karon no longer answer her calls, and she sets out to find them once more. This woman, a powerful necromancer with deep knowledge of D’Karon magic and little concern for the world and its people, spreads chaos wherever she goes. Her bloody swath through the southern lands is just the spark the volatile world needs to take to flame once more.
To keep their lands from descending back into a war that will claim the lives of untold thousands, Myranda, Deacon, and Myn must venture into the heart of Tressor. Escorted by a Dragon Rider named Grustim and surrounded by fear and distrust, the road ahead will not be difficult, but the chosen have fought too hard and lost too much to lose it all to this dark apprentice…
The Book of Deacon, Tome 4: The D'Karon Apprentice
Six months after the city of Verril was freed and the Perpetual War had failed to live up to its name, life was progressing as usual in an icy little down called Frosnell. A thoroughly unremarkable city, it contained little more than a few cobbled streets crisscrossing a city center dominated by a thriving marketplace and a sturdily built inn called Merrimead’s Hearth. Though a part of the frost-bound Northern Alliance, Frosnell was far enough south to enjoy a growing season that could support more than just the hardy cabbages and potatoes of the more northerly farms. The market bustled with farmers selling their wares. With the end of the war, the slowly opening borders to the south allowed traders’ wagons to appear. They were a welcome sight to locals, none of whom had yet been born when the fruits of the southern pastures had last rolled through town. On a normal day these wagons, heaped as they were with exotic goods, would be the talk of the town. Today they were the last things on the minds of the townsfolk. Far more interesting was the ornate carriage drawn by four gleaming white horses that was approaching the town from the north.
If there had been any doubt that the majestic carriage belonged to someone of great importance and influence, the escort of no less than six heavily armored men would have set it to rest. The largest of the escorts—a beast of a man who by rights ought to count as two—had taken a place of honor beside the carriage’s door. Children and curious onlookers gathered around the carriage as it reached Merrimead’s, but the guards kept them at a safe distance. When all was calm, the hulking guard opened the door, and out stepped a young woman layered in furs and dripping with jewels. She was the new queen and empress of the Northern Alliance, a woman named Caya. From the moment she showed her face, it was all her escorts could do to keep the locals at bay, a task made considerably more difficult by the social proclivities of the new queen.
“Hello! Yes, hello! Is this your child? Such a fine, strong boy. I’m certain we’ll have a place for him at the palace some day!” Caya called, singling out villagers to greet. She turned to her largest guard. “Really, Tus. Need you keep them so far back? What good is it to be queen if I can’t interact with my public?”
Tus didn’t reply. He was far too busy squeezing the grip of his weapon and staring down a man who he had decided was less than trustworthy. This opinion was based primarily on proximity. Anyone near enough to fire an arrow at the queen was someone he would prefer to see move along. It was his great fortune, then, that something even more noteworthy had appeared, steadily drawing the attention of the crowd.
One by one eyes turned to the sky as a dark form drifted out of the bright clouds of midday. It was a dragon.
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