Silver Wolf, Black Falcon (A Novel of Mithgar)

Deep snow cascading in its wake, up the mountain steeps lunged the Silver Wolf, a yawling pack of Vulgs baying after. A howling Ghûl on a gasping Hèlsteed surged up the slant aft of the pack, and struggling alongside the corpse-foe and his scaled steed, a yowling band of Rûcks and Hlôks clambered up the cant as well. Black-shafted arrows flew upward, some aimed at the Silver Wolf, others aimed at the dark falcon crying in rage in the churning skies above, both arrows and falcon buffeted by the shrieking winds aloft as the boiling wall of the oncoming storm drew nigh, and a forerunning blast all across the high slopes drove snow swirling up from the ground.
The ’Wolf bore a burden concealed in a harness slung across its back, and about the neck of the pony-sized creature dangled a ring on a chain. And something glistened about the neck of the falcon above, the bird itself black as night, the glisten as from silver and glass.
Hunters and hunted, up the steeps they strove, the ’Wolf now and again glancing at the ebony falcon above, yet pausing not in its lunging run, while behind came the howling foe.

Thus begins Silver Wolf, Black Falcon, a heart-pounding fantasy that twists and turns throughout—involving omens and ancient legends and dark forces and prophecies . . . and the perilous search for a deadly foe and a legendary silver sword. And as with any Dennis L. McKiernan story, prepare to laugh and weep and curse and shout for joy and suffer in silence and be captured by words and read until the early hours, even though school or work or other obligations must surely be waiting in the wings of morrow.

You have been warned.