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The Elenium: The Diamond Throne The Ruby Knight The Sapphire Rose
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About The Elenium: The Diamond Throne The Ruby Knight The
Product Description Now for the first time in one thrilling volume–the three magical novels that make up David Eddings’s epic fantasy The Elenium. In an ancient kingdom, the legacy of one royal family hangs in the balance, and the fate of a queen—and her empire—lies on the shoulders of one knight. Sparhawk, Knight and Queen’s Champion, has returned to Elenia after ten years of exile, only to find young Queen Ehlana trapped in a crystalline cocoon. The enchantments of the sorceress Sephrenia have kept the queen alive–but the spell is fading. In the meantime, Elenia is ruled by a prince regent, the puppet of the tyrannical Annias, who vows to seize power over all the land. Now Sparhawk must find the legendary Bhelliom, a sapphire that holds the key to Ehlana’s cure. Sparhawk and his companions will face monstrous foes and evil creatures on their journey, but even greater dangers lie in wait: for dark legions will stop at nothing to reach the radiant stone, which may possess powers too deadly for any mortal to bear. About the Author David Eddings (1931-2009) published his first novel, High Hunt, in 1973, before turning to the field of fantasy with the Belgariad, soon followed by the Malloreon. Born in Spokane, Washington, and raised in the Puget Sound area north of Seattle, he received his bachelor of arts degree from Reed College in Portland, Oregon, in 1954, and a master of arts degree from the University of Washington in 1961. He served in the US Army, worked as a buyer for the Boeing Company, and was both a grocery clerk and a college English teacher. He lived in Nevada until his death, at the age of 77. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER ONE It was raining. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers of the city of Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side of the broad gate and making the stones of the road leading up to the city shiny and black. A lone rider approached the city. He was wrapped in a dark, heavy traveller’s cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long nose and flat, vicious eyes. The traveller was a big man, a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some time his nose had been broken. He rode easily, but with the peculiar alertness of the trained warrior. His name was Sparhawk, a man at least ten years older than he looked, who carried the erosion of his years not so much on his battered face as in a half-dozen or so minor infirmities and discomforts and in the several wide purple scars upon his body which always ached in damp weather. Tonight, however, he felt his age and he wished only for a warm bed in the obscure inn which was his goal. Sparhawk was coming home at last after a decade of being someone else with a different name in a country where it almost never rained—where the sun was a hammer pounding down on a bleached white anvil of sand and rock and hard-baked clay, where the walls of the buildings were thick and white to ward off the blows of the sun, and where graceful women went to the wells in the silvery light of early morning with large clay vessels balanced on their shoulders and black veils across their faces. The big roan horse shuddered absently, shaking the rain out of his shaggy coat, and approached the city gate, stopping in the ruddy circle of torchlight before the gatehouse. An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate and helmet, and with a patched green cloak negligently hanging from one shoulder, came unsteadily out of the gatehouse and stood swaying in Sparhawk’s path. “I’ll need your name,” he said in a voice thick with drink. Sparhawk gave him a long stare, then opened his cloak to show the heavy silver amulet hanging on a chain about his neck. The half-drunk gate guard’s eyes widened slightly, and he stepped back a pace. “Oh,” he said, “sorry, my Lord. Go ahead.” Another guard poked his head out
