An upcoming novel set in the <World of Warcraft<, to be published by Random House Worlds

Autorentext
Christie Golden is the award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of nearly sixty books and more than a dozen short stories in the fields of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. Her media tie-in works include her first novel, Vampire of the Mists, which launched TSR’s game line; more than a dozen Star Trek novels; and the Fate of the Jedi novels Omen, Allies, and Ascension, as well as the standalone Star Wars novels Dark Disciple and Battlefront II: Inferno Squad. For Blizzard Entertainment, she has contributed five StarCraft novels, including the Dark Templar trilogy, and the Warcraft books Lord of the Clans, Rise of the Horde, Arthas: Rise of the Lich King, Before the Storm, War Crimes, Exploring Azeroth: The Eastern Kingdoms, A is for Azeroth, and Sylvanas. In 2017, Christie Golden was awarded the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers Faust Award and named a grandmaster in recognition of thirty years of writing.

Klappentext

An official prequel novel to World of Warcraft: Midnight

Arator the Redeemer was born to heroism. The son of High Exarch Turalyon and the legendary Alleria Windrunner, Arator has long borne the weight and expectations of their legacy . . . a legacy he inherited as a babe, the day his parents disappeared through the Dark Portal.

Alleria and Turalyon’s journey took them farther afield than they’d intended. While their absence spanned mere decades on Azeroth, the heroes experienced a thousand years at war against the Burning Legion—a demonic army seeking the destruction of all worlds. When at last they reunited with their son, Arator was a man grown, pledged to the very order of paladins for which they had once fought. The Legion fell quickly in a decisive final battle, yet the millennium of distance between the family was less easily conquered.

Now, on the other side of recent events in Khaz Algar, Arator embarks on a new journey, investigating rumors of a strange glow emanating from the ruins of a long-abandoned Legion base. Turalyon and Alleria volunteer to assist, eager to eliminate their ancient enemy before it can threaten their world anew. As the family delves further into the mystery, Arator works to reconcile his parents’ heroic legacy with the flawed people he has come to know. He sees both of his parents in himself: his father’s high standards, his mother’s intellect, their unwavering commitment to the defense of Azeroth. But Arator exists at the conflux of their greatest strengths and weaknesses—weaknesses that are revealed as the demonic threat proves to be a former lieutenant of the Burning Legion, intent on using Azeroth to launch a new campaign of destruction.

Leseprobe
Chapter One

Light’s Hope Chapel, Eastern Plaguelands

The Eastern Kingdoms

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The sound of hammer against steel was a familiar one outside Light’s Hope Chapel. But this time Master Craftsman Wilhelm—who usually repaired the weapons and armor of the Knights of the Silver Hand—was not the one producing it. The gruff dwarf was instead leaning back against a grassy hillock, peering up at the brown-gray sky of the Eastern Plaguelands and belting out a smithing song between swigs of Thunderbrew lager. He paused long enough to pose a question to the half-elf champion who had offered to take his place.

“How long can that skinny little arm of yers keep this up, laddie?” Wilhelm’s eyes twinkled, his mustache wet with foam. The “laddie” in question, Arator the Redeemer, grinned at him as he wiped his brow.

“Yet again I lament that I do not possess the dwarven musculature,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.

Wilhelm guffawed. “Ah, well, we cannae all be so fortunate.”

Arator’s arm was certainly up to the task, but it was hot work, and neither his human nor his elven blood gave him the innate dwarven ability to long withstand the heat of the forge. He removed his upper body armor and laid it to one side, revealing a pair of dragon tattoos on his muscled upper arms. They were identical in style, both outlined in gold, but filled in with different hues: one bright as the White Lady moon and the other a shade of charcoal.

A human boy of about ten, Winthrop, sat beside him. Winthrop was the newest squire to the famed paladin Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, a position that Arator himself had held when he was new to the order. It was the boy’s task to which Arator now plied his own efforts, working on cleaning and hammering dents out of the great man’s armor. Today marked young Winthrop’s first visit to Light’s Hope Chapel, and he was far too dazzled by the elite company he presently kept to have made much progress in mending his lord’s gambeson.

“I can’t believe you’re bothering to help me,” he told Arator. “I mean . . . you’re the son of High Exarch Turalyon and Lady Alleria Windrunner! They’ve statues in the Valley of Heroes, songs sung about them. You were practically born famous!”

Arator had heard all this before and had tired of it years ago. Still, it was hardly Win’s fault, and he meant well. Although Arator was much older than Winthrop, the years of a half-elf did not keep pace with those of humans. It was one of many challenges bequeathed by his unique parentage. For all Arator’s experience and all he had seen, in many ways, he felt more kinship with the new squire than with his lord knight.

Arator turned his smile on the boy. “As I said, I enjoy being of assistance.” Arator well remembered how many tasks had been assigned during his own time as Grayson’s squire. It was important to learn skills like armor repair, of course, but young Win seemed buried beneath mundane chores. Arator felt that there was no task so small it was beneath him, if he could help someone by performing it.

Winthrop’s brown eyes narrowed, and he glanced toward where Lord Grayson and another of his former squires were engaged in conversation. “I hope he doesn’t get angry at us,” Winthrop murmured.

Arator couldn’t blame the boy for being concerned. Tall, muscular, having lost his right eye in battle long ago, Lord Grayson could seem intimidating even when out of armor and chatting casually. As one of Stormwind’s foremost paladins, he’d trained many among their number, had even brought Arator with him to their order’s war council a time or two. It was hard not to see him as intimidating, formidable—certainly an enemy Arator would not want to meet in battle. Simply sparring with the man was hard enough. But Grayson had made a firm commitment to others in the order, and he’d served the Light longer than most.

“Don’t worry,” Arator reassured the boy. “He’ll know it was my idea, not yours, trust me.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, either.”

“I won’t.”

Winthrop sighed. “Everyone says I’m lucky he picked me, but . . .” The boy looked down. “He’s so . . . strong, and confident, and can knock me to the ground in seconds when we’re sparring. I’ve heard a lot of the stories—he’s a real hero! He’s more than just a knight, he’s a lord! I’ve got to make sure I don’t disappoint him.” As he spoke the words, Winthrop reached for the gambeson and set to mending it with renewed purpose.

Arator felt his smile fade slightly. Even though he might be the son of legends, he was, in Winthrop’s innocent words, just…