Author: R.K. Lander
A land at war, a failing king, a light in the forest …
Bel’arán, land of mortals, immortals, and those that dwell in between. The elven forest realm of Ea Uaré is threatened by ruthless Sand Lords seeking water, and the undead Deviants who crave the mindless destruction of elves.
The powerful Alpine lords strive to dominate the leaderless native Silvans through power games, leaving in their wake a bereft king, assailed by grief and a family unable to forgive him.
As the king drifts in endless sorrow, the forest people are loosing their identity. Discriminated and belittled, they are the warriors but the Alpine lords are their commanders - until a child is born to the Deep Woods - an elf with the face of an Alpine and the heart of a Silvan, an orphan whose only dream is to dare become a Silvan captain in a world dominated by Alpines - Fel’annár, Green Sun.
A born warrior, to his friends, Fel’annár becomes Hwind’atór, the Whirling Warrior, and together, they will step upon the path of a novice.
Adventure, hardship and self-discovery will mould the warrior he will become. But destiny will not be ignored, and Fel’annár is confronted with the truth of his own abilities and the mystery of his past, one shrouded in sorrow and intrigue - one that may change the course of history.
From child to novice warrior and beyond, Fel’annár is, The Silvan.
The Silvan is her first work, a YA epic fantasy trilogy revolving around the figure of a Silvan elf, Fel'annar. The first in the series, Path of a Novice is available for pre-order, and the second, Road of a Warrior, is approaching the editing stage.
An eagle’s call drew his attention for a moment, his frosty grey eyes finding it as it soared higher upon the warm air. Envy, deep and bitter cut through his icy veil, for even though it was mortal, still, he would have traded his own existence right there and then, had he been given the choice.
But it was all gone and in one, slow and purposeful blink, the coldness was back in his eyes, the mind behind them sharp and in the present once more for he was no longer alone.
“My Lord,” came the flat voice of his Crown Prince, Rinon.
“Speak,” was all the king could find within himself to say.
“The Western Patrol is approaching, they have urgent news from the North.”
“I will be along shortly.”
“My king,” continued the Crown Prince, his expression sharpening, lip curling slightly - he was angry. “Captain Darón is dead…”
Thargodén’s eyes closed and he breathed deeply. Another of his captains gone, one he had known well. “Sand Lords?” he asked quietly.
“Deviants!” hissed the Crown Prince, his jaw working furiously, cold eyes flashing in barely-controlled wrath, eyes that had turned on him so many times in the past.
The king allowed his gaze to travel over the livid face, one so much like his own, but where Rinon was fire and ice, he was apathy and water, ever running away, endlessly seeking to transcend the borders of its prison, one that had enclosed Thargoden the day he had lost everything.