Author: Dan Ehl
Email: news@kalonanews.com
Genre: Fantasy
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1
$4.99
REVIEW:
Jo Ann Hakola, The Book Faerie
Vlad came from a long line of evil
men. They loved killing and torturing
people, and the dungeons were well
used. Vlad was raised mostly by his
mother and he learned about love and
kindness. When he takes over the realm
all anyone knows is that the Dragol
line is evil. Telling them he's not
like that doesn't do him a bit of
good.
The author sent me a copy of this
book to read for review (thank you). You
can buy a copy in ebook or print
form.
I have to say that Mr. Ehl could be
writing stories just for me. They are
the type of fantasy that I love to
read. I've read his Jak Barley
adventures and this is a different
side of the story. I had mentioned in my
review in the past that I wanted to
know about Lorenzo. I know a bit more,
but I get the feeling you never
really know Lorenzo. He just is and can
do
amazing things and he's handy to
have around when you're on a quest.
The story moves along well and has
all kinds of unusual characters. While
it sounds like it's incongruous and
mixed up, it's really a very good story.
Everything fits together and makes
sense when you read about it, no matter
how strange it might sound summed
up.
If you like action fantasies with
heroes and dragons and magic and even a
troll, you'll enjoy this story. I know I did and I plan to keep my copy of
this book in my personal
library. I'll read it again.
Happy reading.
Jo Ann Hakola
The Book Faerie
4225 Harrison St
Las Cruces, NM 88005
http://bookfaerie.com
http://bkfaerie.blogspot.com
http://shelvedtreasures.blogspot.com
BLURB:
Vladimir Dragol XIII had an
immense task--convincing the world he was
not following in his ancestors'
bloody footprints.
When the chance to prove
himself came in the form of an attractive princess on a quest to save world,
how could he refuse? There was a slight problem--the
princess loathed the
Dragol line.
There was also the dilemma
that others alluded to in the quest
prophecy--a dragon trainee and wizard's
apprentice--wanted nothing to do with the task.
Through Myrlyn's Gate was
another foretold member of the quest
who had no idea what was in store for him,
including a midnight raid on the
Dickeyville Grotto in the strange land of
Wisconsin.
EXCERPT:
Vladimir Dragol XIII had an
immense task--convincing the world he was
not following in his
ancestors' bloody footprints.
When the chance to prove
himself came in the form of an attractive princess on a quest to save world,
how could he refuse? There was a slight problem--the
princess loathed the Dragol
line.
There was also the dilemma
that others alluded to in the quest
prophecy--a dragon trainee
and wizard's apprentice--wanted nothing to do with the task.
Through Myrlyn's Gate was
another foretold member of the quest
who had no idea what was in
store for him, including a midnight raid on the
Dickeyville Grotto in the
strange land of Wisconsin.
Together the quest mates
would battle rogue dragons, a demented king¹s army and bikers at a bar in Bear
River, Iowa.
EXCERPT
Garin
hesitated, dazed by the fierce headache. It was time to silence the bell. He
didn't feel strong enough for the deed, but there was no other choice. He
reached out and picked up the receiver.
"What?"
"Mr.
Garin Hemphill?"
"Yeah."
"Good
morning. I'm calling about our new triple-paned aluminum storm windows now on
sale..."
Garin had
predicted the night before that it was going to be an ugly morning, the kind
that made dying in one's sleep an attractive option. The suspicion first reared
its ugly head at two a.m. when a blurry-eyed Garin first noticed the army of
dead beer cans littering the war zone of the kitchen floor. A few of the
casualties had even made it to the living room before giving up the spirit.
Luck was
certainly not on Garin's side. He had hoped to sleep through the morning and
most of his hangover.
"I
don't need new windows. The ones I have are perfectly good."
"But
sir, you haven't seen our deluxe, triple-paned, easy access windows guaranteed
for the life of you or your house, whichever goes first. What's your heating
bill?"
"What?"
"Your
heating bill. Our windows can slash your heating bills in half."
Garin
stretched the phone line and slumped into a kitchen chair. He winced at the
bright morning light streaming in through the rippled glass of the old windows.
"My
heating bill is fine. I don't need new windows."
"What
color is your house?"
"What?"
"What
color is your house? We also have a full line of enamel coated window frames
that can be matched to any house color."
Garin
guessed the telephone call must be some kind of penance. What other reason
could there be for this torture?
"And?"
"And
what?"
"What
color is your house?"
"Chartreuse."
"What?"
"Chartreuse."
'You're
putting me on. Your house is yellowish-green?"
Garin
rubbed his eyes and wondered if the cord would reach all the way to the
medicine cabinet where the aspirins were located.
"Yes,
chartreuse. Do you have some kind of problem with that?"
"No,
it's just that we don't get many chartreuse houses. Did you pick that
color?"
"What?"
"Did
you pick that color?"
"As a
matter of fact, no. My mother picked it fifteen years ago. Of course it's
getting a bit faded, but it is still recognizable as...”
"As...?"
"Shit."
"Shit?"
"Shit.
I just saw something fly by my window."
"An
aluminum window?"
"No,
a tiny dragon."
"What?"
"A
dragon."
"Now,
is your window an ..."
"I
just saw a tiny dragon fly toward the barn."
"Listen,
if you don't want to buy new windows, why don't you just say so?"
"I
have said so."
"You
want to buy new windows?"
"No,
I don't want to buy new windows. The ones I have are good enough."
"But
sir, you haven't seen our deluxe, triple-paned easy access window guaranteed
for the life of you or your house, whichever comes first. What's your heating
bill?"
"What?"
"Your
heating bill. Our windows can slash your heating bills in half."
Garin
staggered across the kitchen and hung up the phone. There was some guilt
involved. He'd read a recent Associated Press story about the psychological
problems experienced by telemarketers. Continual rejection, much of it very
rudely worded, resulted in severe trauma. The suicide rate for telephone
salespeople, the story claimed, was almost as high as for people who
consistently listened to country music.
He didn't
bother putting on a shirt or shoes, wearing only his jeans as he rushed out the
door. He was numb to the gravel under his feet as he picked his way across the
rocky and weedy farmyard. He climbed the fence of the empty cattle yard, walked
past the wooden feed bunks and stopped at the barn door. This was going to be
as bad as answering the phone, he worried, and stepped inside.
It was
worse than answering the phone. Five people were sleeping in a pile of straw
thrown down from the mow. Four looked as if they were dressed for a Robin Hood
movie. The fifth was clad in the leathers of a biker, but instead of a big
Harley, sprawled across most of the concrete floor was an immense black dragon.
Garin only
had so much stamina and it gave out when a small wyvern darted into view and
stopped only inches from his nose. They stared at each other eyeball-to-eyeball
before Garin's legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor.
