Monday, February 3, 2014

R.K. Royals **Tempest**

R.K. Ryals (Tempest)
Hauntingly beautiful ... one of her bests yet!
Remarkably rich with depth and detail! One of the greatest fantasy series of all time!
I laughed and cried, and cried, and then when I thought I was done crying because I found myself laughing...I cried again.

Tempest (The Scribes of Medeisia)



We must overcome and prevail ...

King Raemon of Medeisia is slaughtering tattooed scribes and mages, forcing them into hiding. All
marked and those associated with them are destroyed. The people are desperate. Months after
challenging Raemon, the marked rebels of Medeisia must rise against their bloodthirsty king or chance
being annihilated.

Sixteen year-old Drastona Consta-Mayria is the prophesied phoenix of peace, desperate to be a leader
for her people despite her reservations. Following the lead of a scarred and forgotten prince, Drastona
will embark on a journey with an unlikely band of rebels and a dragon across a cursed desert to bring
down a king and save a kingdom.

And then I lost my battle with the wind, just remembering to turn my head so that when I fell onto Oran, it was with my cheek, my nose and mouth open and uncovered. It put me eye to eye with Lochlen. His reptilian eyes were dilated, his pupils blackening his gaze.

“It ends soon,” he promised. His eyes stayed locked on mine, and I concentrated on that.

Lochlen, my dragon. I’m not sure when I had started seeing him that way. It was a strange connection I’d felt since I’d first met him at the edge of the Ardus. Not a love at first sight romantic kind of feeling; he was a dragon after all. More of an I need you kind of feeling; a friendship that seemed to start without words.

I was so tired. The wind bore down on us so roughly I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And maybe I couldn’t. There was no room under the fabric for all of us to breathe, no oxygen left. The wind was stealing it all away.

“Just a little longer,” Lochlen yelled, his eyes on mine.

My face was pressed so deeply into Oran’s fur that I could almost smell the forest on him, the hair tickling my nose.

“Don’t let go!” Kye ordered from above me, his voice firm, commanding.

The flat, thick tent was lifting, and I knew the men were losing their battle with the wind.

“Don’t let go!” Kye yelled.

“Remember why we came!” I tried lifting my head, but between the wind, the fabric, and Kye, I couldn’t move at all.

“Can’t breathe!” Daegan panted. “Can’t ...”

“Can’t breathe,” I agreed, my voice a whisper.

No one heard me.