A thousand years ago in Tobyn-Ser, Amarid and Theron discovered magical crystals that enabled them to bond with hawks to produce powerful magic. together, they started an order, dedicating themselves to using their powers to help their people. Theron was expelled from the Order for abusing his power, but ever since, the Children of Amarid have faithfully upheld their vow using their power selflessly to protect the land and its people. Now the idyllic peace of Tobyn-Ser has been shattered by news of mages destroying crops, burning villages, and murdering innocents. Rumor even say that Theron may have returned from the dead to wreak vengeance on Tobyn-Ser an the Order that spurned him. uncovering the truth about the renegade mages and restoring peace to the sundered land will take a young but powerful Hawk-Mage named Jaryd across the length and breadth of Tobyn-Ser, a journey he must complete before it's too late to save the Order...and the world. "Excellent!"--Anne McCaffrey "Coe is a natural-born storyteller. Sit back and enjoy the journey!"--Sherwood Smth David B. Coe is the author of the bestselling fantasy series Winds of the Forelands, Blood of the Southlands, and The LonTobyn Chronicles. He won the William L. Crawford Award for Best First Fantasy or Fantasy Series for Children of Amarid and its sequel, The Outlanders . He also wrote the novelization of the Ridley Scott production of Robin Hood. Coe grew up in the suburbs around New York City. He received his undergrad degree from Brown University and his Ph.D. in history from Stanford University. He lives with his wife and two daughters in Sewanee, Tennessee. 1 Gerek awoke with first light, rose, and dressed quietly. He kissed his wife, who stirred slightly before turning over and going back to sleep. Then he stepped noiselessly to the next room, where his son slept. Gerek smiled when he saw the boy, still asleep, sprawled ridiculously in his bed. Kori's small feet rested on the pillow and his head leaned against the wall. Gerek sat down on the bed by his son and shook the boy gently. "Kori. Kori," he called softly. "I'm going to the island to pick some shan leaf. Do you want to come along? Or do you want to sleep some more?" The boy turned over and yawned, his eyes still closed. "I want to go with you," he replied sleepily. "All right," Gerek continued in the same hushed tone. "Then you have to get up now." "All right," Kori answered, although his eyes remained closed. His father laughed quietly. A moment later, the boy opened his eyes and yawned again. His father helped him out of bed, dressed him, and led him by the hand out to the common room. "Do you want something to eat now, or do you want to wait until we get back?" Gerek whispered. The boy considered the question for a moment, his face, still puffy from sleep, wearing a thoughtful expression. "I think I'm hungry now," he said at last. His father held a finger to his lips indicating that he should speak quietly. "Can I have a piece of sweet bread?" Kori continued in a whisper. Gerek nodded and stepped lightly into the pantry. He returned with two pieces of the soft bread, giving one to his son and biting into the other himself. When they finished eating, both man and boy donned heavy brown overshirts and silently left the house. The early morning air felt cool and damp, and the briny scent of the nearby harbor lay heavy over the village. The sky was azure, and the first rays of sunlight cast elongated shadows in front of them as they crossed through the village and down to the shore. When they reached the waterfront they walked among the small, wooden boats that sat on the sandy beach until they reached the dugout Gerek had fashioned the previous spring. In the boat lay three wooden paddles, two of them full sized, and one of them, clearly intended for Kori, half the size of the others. Kori removed his paddle and one of the larger ones, struggling slightly with the latter, and his father pushed the dugout along the sand until it glided onto the glasslike surface of the harbor. There, he held it still, allowing Kori to climb in and move to the front. Then Gerek took his place at the stern and began to paddle away from the shore. A fine mist, rising slowly from the water's surface, parted and swirled past the sides of the dugout as the small boat glided toward a large, wooded island half a mile from the shore. The island's trees were mottled with numerous shades of green, their leaves still young with the spring. Thin strands of steam curled over the wooded island like fingers on some ghostly hand. Beyond the island, in the distance, a thick fog lay like a blanket over the pale, green rise of the Lower Horn. In the prow of the little boat, Kori paddled, smoothly shifting the oar from side to side the way his father had taught him. Gerek smiled and shook his head. It's not possible, he thought to himself, watching the boy, that he can already be five years old. Where do the years go