By Steven Brust
Two hundred years after Adron’s catastrophe, within which Dragaera urban used to be unintentionally lowered to an ocean of chaos via an test in wizardry long gone flawed, the Empire isn’t what it was once. disadvantaged at a unmarried blow in their Emperor, of the Orb that's the concentration of the Empire’s strength, in their capital urban with its Impe-rial paperwork, and of an outstanding lots of their overdue fellow electorate, the surviving Dragaerans were limping via a protracted Interregnum, bereft even of the easy magic and sorcery they have been familiar with use in daily life.
Now the descendants and successors of the nice ad-venturers Khaavren, Pel, Aerich, and Tazendra are becoming up during this likely reduced global, con-vinced, like their elders, that the age of adventures is over and not anything attention-grabbing will ever ensue to them. they're, after all, unsuitable . . . .
For even disadvantaged of magic, Dragaerans struggle, plot, and conspire as they breathe, and so do their still-powerful gods. The enemies of the Empire prowl at its edges, in-scrutable doings are up at Dzur Mountain...and, unex-pectedly, a surviving Phoenix inheritor, younger Zerika, is discovered—setting off a sequence of swashbuckling occasions that might remake the realm but again.