The second book in a magic-laced, fast-paced, fantasy trilogy. With dragons.
I’d rather fight than study, but I’m stuck poring over dusty scrolls. I promised I’d learn about the dragon part of my magic, but I’m having a hell of a hard time believing there’s some concealed strain of power just waiting for me to kindle it. Meanwhile, my friends the witches are playing fast and loose with remaining hidden.
My Celtic kin won’t bother them anymore—at least I don’t think they will. But far worse things rove Earth than the Celtic gods. The Breaking has developed an energy all its own. The longer it runs wild, the harder it will be to contain.
Soon, very soon, no magic in the Nine Worlds will be enough to counteract it. Once that happens, the few remaining mortals will go first, but the rest of us won’t be far behind them.
I'm basically a mountaineer at heart. I remember many hours at my desk where my body may have been stuck inside four walls, but my soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. There's a timeless element to the mountains. They feel like old friends as I visit them, and visit them again. There's nothing like standing on a remote pass where I've been before and seeing that the vista is unchanged. Or on an equally remote peak. Mountains are the bones of the world. They'll prevail long after all of us are dust. It feels honest and humbling to share space with them. I hope I'm blessed with many more years to wander the local landscape. The memories are incomparable. They warm me and help me believe there will be something left for our children and their children after them.