By Craig Shaw Gardner
"Guxx Unfufadoo is my identify. And killing wizards is my game!"
Thus spoke the scary rhyming demon, come from the Netherhells, to munch a host of the good Ebenezum.
Only it didn't really determine that means. Ebenezum lived, cursed by means of Guxx with a powerful curse that he may still henceforth be allergic to magic.
So Ebenezum and his hapless apprentice Wuntvor needs to trip to town of Forbidden Delights to hunt a medication. They locate the line fraught with peril and darkish magic, from tap-dancing dragons to enchanted chickens, slobbering trolls, winsome witches and sinister shrubbery.
It's as much as Wunt to determine them via, to utter the sounds of energy and converse the spells that may insure their future health, wealth and persevered existence. It in basic terms he may well take into accout the words...
"A lot of fun." (Christopher Stasheff)
Read or Download A Malady Of Magicks (The Ebenezum Trilogy, Book 1) PDF
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Additional resources for A Malady Of Magicks (The Ebenezum Trilogy, Book 1)
The Nullarbor, an almost inconceivable expanse of murderous desert, was something I particularly longed to see. The color magazine of the London Mail on Sunday was doing a special issue on Australia, and I had agreed to file a report. I had been planning to come out soon anyway to start the traveling for this book, so this was in the nature of a bonus trip—a chance to get the measure of the country in an exceedingly comfortable way at someone else’s expense. Sounded awfully good to me. To that end, I would be traveling for the next week or so in the company of a young English photographer named Trevor Ray Hart, who was flying in from London and whom I would meet for the first time the next morning.
Put in the crudest terms, Australia was slightly more important to us in 1997 than bananas, but not nearly as important as ice cream. As it turns out, 1997 was actually quite a good year for Australian news. In 1996 the country was the subject of just nine news reports and in 1998 a mere six. Australians can’t bear it that we pay so little attention to them, and I don’t blame them. This is a country where interesting things happen, and all the time. Consider just one of those stories that did make it into the Times in 1997, though buried away in the odd-sock drawer of Section C.
M. just to get it moving. ” Almost at once the men began to squabble. Within days, six of the party had resigned, and the road to Menindee was littered with provisions they decided they didn’t need, including fifteen hundred pounds (let me just repeat that: fifteen hundred pounds) of sugar. They did almost everything wrong. Against advice, they timed the trip so that they would do most of the hardest traveling at the height of summer. With such a burden it took them almost two months to traverse the four hundred miles of well-trodden track to Menindee; a letter from Melbourne normally covered the same ground in two weeks.