The Dragon and the Fair Maid of Kent (Dragon Series #9)

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Jim Eckert, the Dragon Knight, must now confront the three disasters that lie in wait for any visitor to the English Middle Ages: war, plague, and Plantagenets.

The plague is caused by a covert invasion of shape-changing goblins with plague-tipped spears taht seek to take over the world. Meanwhile, Eckert's castle is invaded by Plantagenets: Edward III, his son Edward the Black Prince, and Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent.

Against the background of ...

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New York, NY, U.S.A. 2000 Hard Cover First Edition New in New jacket 8vo-over 7?"-9?" tall. 1st Ed. so stated, 1st Printing, number row ending in 1, HB/DJ, brand new, 400 pp. ... Four-time Hugo Award and two-time Nebula Award winning author. Jim Eckert, the Dragon Knight, must now confront the three disasters that lie in wait for any visitor to the English Middle Ages: war, plague, and Plantagenets. Read more Show Less

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Jim Eckert, the Dragon Knight, must now confront the three disasters that lie in wait for any visitor to the English Middle Ages: war, plague, and Plantagenets.

The plague is caused by a covert invasion of shape-changing goblins with plague-tipped spears taht seek to take over the world. Meanwhile, Eckert's castle is invaded by Plantagenets: Edward III, his son Edward the Black Prince, and Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent.

Against the background of a full-scae human-versus-goblin war, these worthies move in a swirl of intrigue and dynastic tension. And, as usual, it's up to Jim Eckert, in all his scaly glory, to make sure good triumphs in the end.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
In this ninth entry in the Dragon Knight series, Jim EckertDformerly a 20th-century mathematicianDhas adapted fairly well to the alternate-world 14th century, where he is not only a knight but an upper-level apprentice in Magick. Having learned to control his ability to change into a dragon, he has also come to practical terms with the world in which he and his wife, Angie, now reside. After toying with Arthurian legend in the previous volume (The Dragon in Lyonesse), the saga now returns to its semihistorical setting, Jim's castle, Malencontri, and its English environs. Sir Jim deals with the domestic (servants, unexpected guests, the marriage of friends Geronde and Brian), the political (machinations surrounding Edward III and his son and heir, Edward, the Black Prince), the medical (the bubonic plague), the martial (war against shape-changing goblins who carry plague-tipped spears) and, as always, dark powers and the "magickal." One of the charms of the series is the author's logical approach to magic. Not only does it follow strict metaphysical laws, there's even a sort of credit limit on how much one can use. The series has always explored the meaning of friendship, love, faith and loyalty rather than focusing on heroics and the high fantastic. This time out, there's about as much napping, tea-sipping and recovering from strenuous magical work and disease as there is swash and buckle. But the readerDwhether new to the series or familiar with itDwill not tire. Comfortably genuine characters, wit, the insightful juxtaposition of modern protagonists, "real" medieval life and the fantastic make for a highly enjoyable read. (Dec. 18) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.
This latest book in Dickson's Dragon series that began with The Dragon and the George (Doubleday, 1976), again follows twentieth-century college professor James Eckert, who has been transported to the fourteenth century where he is known as Baron Sir James Eckert, Lord of Malencontri Castle and apprentice Magickian. Jim, as he is called affectionately by those close to him, not only is gifted in Magick, but he also has the ability to transform himself into a dragon. Edward, Prince of England, and his mistress, Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, come to Jim and his wife, Angela, who also has been transplanted, to request their aid. Edward's father, King Edward III, has been persuaded by the dishonest Earl of Cumberland that the prince is an unworthy successor. At the same time, Jim and Angie must deal with the approach of the Black Plague and an attack by a goblin army. Because of Jim and Angie's knowledge of cleanliness and medicine from the future, they are able to escape the Plague. There is much history in this book, mostly accurate. Information about day-to-day life as well as celebrations and battles is detailed. There are elements that do not conform, and Jim usually reminds himself—and readers—that this England's fourteenth century is not exactly the same Middle Ages he studied. A detailed historical note explains some of the differences between actual history and the novel. This well-written book does not stand alone well and probably will be picked up only by fans of the Dragon series or Dickson' other works. Teens interested in English history might be persuaded to try the series. VOYA CODES: 4Q 3P S A/YA (Better than most, marred only by occasional lapses; Will appealwith pushing; Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12; Adult and Young Adult). 2000, Tor, 416p, $26.95. Ages 16 to Adult. Reviewer: Marlyn Roberts SOURCE: VOYA, August 2001 (Vol. 24, No. 3)
Library Journal
As marauding goblins bring plague and war to England, James Eckert, the dragon knight, becomes embroiled in the complexities of love and politics. Crossing paths and destinies with Edward Plantagenet--the Black Prince--and his paramour, the beautiful Joan of Kent, Eckert must use his knowledge of magic and the modern world that was once his home to protect the future of England and the fates of those he loves. Dickson's latest entry in his popular "Dragon Knight" series maintains the high standards of its predecessors. Superb attention to period detail and a cast of believable and engagingly fallible characters make this a solid addition to fantasy collections. Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.
St. Paul Pioneer Press
Dickson pulls more surprises out of his storytelling hat than any other writer working in light fantasy.
The Washington Times
The Dragon Night slays readers with its wit, verve, joy.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312861605
  • Publisher: Doherty, Tom Associates, LLC
  • Publication date: 12/1/2000
  • Series: Dragon Series , #9
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Pages: 416
  • Product dimensions: 6.56 (w) x 9.60 (h) x 1.43 (d)

Meet the Author

Gordon R. Dickson was the Hugo- and Nebula-winning author of many classics of fantasy and science fiction, most famously the Childe Cycle (also known as the Dorsai series). He died in 2001.

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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

                                         Jim (Baron Sir James Eckert, Lord of Malencontri Castle and its environs, and also now uppermost-level apprentice in Magick) woke two hours before moonset; and rose from bed, going to the nearest of the Solar windows to look out.

    Behind him in their bed his wife, Angie (Lady Angela) slept peacefully. Beyond the window it was still full night, but cloudless and moon-bright. From just under the top of Malencontri's tower, where the Solar's large, single room was, the full moon itself was still up, and everything far below him stood out clearly.

    The tall trees beyond the cleared space surrounding the castle blended together in an unbroken wall of blackness; the stubbled ground of the cleared space showed a faint shine on its patches of grass, evidence that the night's rain had stopped only recently.

    As he watched, two figures, bent under the loads on their backs, came out of the woods to his right and cut across the cleared space at an angle to enter the woods again on its further side. They walked slowly, heavily, one figure taller than the other, the large bundles riding high on their shoulders.

    The prospect of dawn must have roused them, with its hope of sun to dry their worn clothes—for clearly all they owned was carried on their shoulders now—and put a little heat into their bones. So theyhad roused from whatever forest nest they had made in the rain for the night and were once more moving on; to what they did not know, but someplace better than this, and much better than wherever they had left.

    Standing before the six-inch squares of glass that made up the panes in the Solar window, warmed by the blazing fireplace, refueled even while he and Angie slept by the servant who, with a man-at-arms, was always on duty outside their door, Jim felt a chill go through him.

    They grew more numerous every day, these drifters. Running from news of the bubonic plague, now in France—always traveling west, always so poor they did not even have a donkey to carry their belongings, and with no real goal in sight—driven on only by the instinct for survival. The chill deepened in Jim. There they trudged, cold, undoubtedly hungry, if not starving. All doors were closed to them out of a fear of the very sickness they fled from.

    No community would take them in, for the same fear. Some member of the Church might put out food for them, but otherwise could not help—probably would not help. They had probably given up hope of aid, even from Heaven.

    Faith and Love, those two great Pillars of Strength in the medieval world—available to even the poorest—were almost surely lost to them by now. Faith, that offered hope even beyond the grave, would have been drowned in the animal effort to live. Love, in all its meanings of this time—love of wife, children, comrades, community, and country—all the ways the word wove together in the tapestry of medieval society, had once made the fabric of their lives. All gone now.

    What was left now was no more than the blind urge to run, and under that instinct, they trudged mindlessly westward, ever westward, like cattle before the driving, level snow in the fierce wind of a blizzard.

    Jim remembered how he had lied about being a knight and a baron when he and Angie—now his wife—came to this medieval world, a far different version of the Earth into which he had been born and grown up. He stood here now, warm, protected and fed as what he had claimed to be. It was true he had done what was required of someone with the rank he had claimed. He had followed the rules. He had fought with the proper weapons when necessary, according to the customs here—not well, but well enough to get by. But his attempts to live had been rewarded. Those two out there had not. There was no more fairness in this time and place than there had been in the world of his twentieth-century birth.

    The ones he watched might reach the sea eventually—it was not a great distance from them now—and there would be nothing for them there, either. What would they do then? Drown themselves like lemmings in their spring migration? There seemed no sense or reason to their keeping on.

    The chill was deep in him now, and he knew what had driven it there: the question that had returned again and again to him the last two years of those few he and Angie had spent in this historic period of a world almost exactly like the one in which they had grown up.

    Will Angie and I ever really belong here?

    And even as he faced that question once again, Carolinus, his Master-in-Magick, appeared beside him.

    "Good! You're up!" he said. His red robe, like all his robes, was worn thin, and would stay that way until, in a less absent-minded moment, he would recollect the fact and make it clean and new again. "Jim, I've only a short time to tell you something important."

    "Shh!" said Jim. "Angie's asleep!"

    "She will not wake while we talk," said Carolinus, "and, Jim, try practicing at least a little proper respect to senior Magickians. You may need it soon. You may now be in the last stage of apprenticeship, but you're not yet a fellow member to a Magickian—let alone one like me. Must I remind you I'm not only the most senior of Magickians, but one of the only three AAA+ Magickians in the world?"

    "Of course not," said Jim. "I never forget. But I thought we could drop formality in private."

    "Sometimes. Sometimes not! This is not one of those times. I come to you at this hour in person, that no other Magickian might chance to overhear, and, by the way, with a ward around us now through which nothing could be heard, to privately give you information it is against the laws of the Collegiate of Magickians for a member to share—two laws in particular I, myself, helped write. It was I who woke you just now, I who then gave you some moments in which to become fully awake, so that you would fully grasp the importance of what I have to say."

    "Sorry," said Jim. "But look, Carolinus, I was deep asleep just ten minutes ago, and about to go back to it. Wouldn't you rather tell me in the morning—"

    "Jim, listen to me! You must tell no one—not even Angie. There are things no apprentice should ever be told beforehand. One is that his Master-in-Magick has proposed him for full membership—until the Collegiate has agreed to consider him. I'm telling you this now—and the other matter that brings me here—because the problem is dire, and I believe I have seen in you a capacity no other apprentice has ever shown."

    "I see," said Jim, fully awake to the conversation now and at last impressed by what Carolinus was telling him. He had never heard the elder magickian speak to him with quite this much urgency before. "All right, if it's that serious I won't even tell her—though we generally don't keep secrets from each other—"

    "This is not your secret!"

    Carolinus glared at Jim for a moment. He seemed to grow in stature.

    "I understand," Jim said.

    "Then engrave this thought in your mind. Whatever must be done to prevent it, whatever it costs you, me or anyone else—the King must not die! The King must not die!"

    "You've mentioned this before," Jim said. "But never this seriously. Is there some immediate danger—" Jim began to ask, but it was too late.

    Carolinus was gone.

    Quietly Jim went back to bed and slid carefully under the covers. Angie did not stir. The image of the two refugees, drifting westward, was still with him; riding on top of it in his mind was what Carolinus had said. The part about his now being considered for membership in the Collegiate was welcome—he had ideas of what he wanted to do with that membership—but it was no great surprise. They would have had to do something about him eventually.

    Although he had no direct evidence of the fact, he was sure that no other apprentice-rated magician came within a country mile of him in terms of magical abilities—not anywhere in this world, though that was not really due to his having an innate genius where magic was concerned. It was to do with the advantage of having grown up in a world of scientific method and knowledge more than five hundred years in the future of this time.

    Carolinus' unusually powerful concern over the life of the King was something else again. There must be not only reason for it, but reason that deeply concerned the world-wide Collegiate of Magickians itself. According to the history that had been his undergraduate and graduate study where he had come from, Edward IV was not due to die for years yet.

    But—he reminded himself—events here often did not exactly match what he had learned in the world of his birth.

    This last thought gnawed at his mind, colored by the emotion of seeing the drifters. He was tired, in need of sleep, but sleep seemed impossible.

    Thought succeeded thought. Possibility followed possibility. Mental scenarios in which he dealt with one wild situation after another.... The night-duty servant quietly came in several times to replenish the wood in their fireplace. Each time Jim pretended to be asleep.

    At last, he did sleep—but not well—waking to find predawn looking in the windows and Angie gone. He got up, dressed, called in the room servant to make up the bed, and lay down on it.

    He fell asleep again. This time he dreamed—until the sound of the door opening woke him a second time, as surely as if it had been an alarm.

    "Jim!" said the Lady Angela Eckert, to the further sound of the door closing sharply behind her. She came in, lit now by bright morning sunlight through the Solar windows, moving swiftly to his bedside to stare down at him. "You're as white as a sheet!"

    Jim looked up at her from their big bed and answered without thinking. His voice did not come out right. He had meant it to sound humorous. It did not.

    "Someone just walked over my grave," he said.

    Angie continued to stare at him, her face showing a mixture of expressions: alarmed concern, near anger.

    "What on earth do you mean saying a stupid thing like that?" she said finally ... but gently now, her face showing only concern as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Here you are, all dressed up and lying there on a made-up bed."

    "Dressed up?"

    He glanced down at his body. He had forgotten he had dressed—dressed up—in his finest clothes, and had forgotten that the bed beneath him was made up. The dream came back to him.

    But Angie was going on, talking almost automatically as she stared at him with still deeper concern.

    "—When I let you oversleep it was because I thought you looked so tired. But everyone in the castle is going to have to work like beavers today—"

    "No beavers," he said, still stupid. "Fourteenth century. England. No beavers here."

    "Bees with their little tails on fire, then! If we're going to get the castle ready in time for Geronde and Brian's wedding—"

    "The servants'll do all that," he said, and once again his voice came out wrong. "They won't let me do any of it."

    "That's not the point and you know it. They've got to see you looking furious, as if you'd have to do it yourself if they don't. They want you all worked up and involved, so they know they ought to be all worked up and involved, too—they're our two best friends, after all, and everybody knows it. All worked up because the banns had to be read again to have it here by extraordinary Church permission and our dirty old chapel cleaned and refixed in no time at all so that Geronde can have the Mass she wants following the wedding—and everything else."

    There was no good answer to this. It was all true, so he said nothing.

    "And here you lie," she went on, "three hours past sun-up, in visitor-greeting clothes, doing nothing!"

    He could hardly deny his clothes or the fact he was doing nothing. So he said nothing. Angie would change gears in a moment. She herself was wearing an old, mulberry-colored gown ... everyday clothes—

    "Jim," she said, firmly, "what is it? First the dress-up. Now you scare me half to death saying what you did."

    He had to give her a reasonable answer. The truth.

    "They're both part of the same thing," he said. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so that he sat beside her. He put an arm around her shoulder. "Carolinus came toward the end of the night. He had something to tell me. But he made me promise not to tell anyone else—even you."

    "Well, that was good of him!—No, cancel that. I know he wouldn't do anything like that without a good reason." She turned her head to look up into his face. "And that made you have some crazy dream?"

    "Maybe!" said Jim. He did not really know. "But when he came, I'd just been looking out the window and seen a couple of drifters—a man and a woman, I think. One was a full head taller than the other. I couldn't get them out of my mind. So, I lay awake a long time, then went back to sleep and had this dream."

    "And made the bed yourself, and got dressed up like this while you were still dreaming?"

    "Of course not. I dressed, thinking I'd stay up, called in the servant to make the bed, then lay down on the made-up bed—and had the dream."

    "Some dream, to affect you like this!"

    Again he had no easy answer.

    "Tell me what it was about," she said.

    He put his arm around her and took her hand, laying it out palm up in his own open palm. They both studied it for a moment—Angie's looking fragile against his broader, thicker hand, with its longer fingers, callused now by tight-held reins and hours of weapon practice with Brian. Then he brought his arm back and covered both hands with his other, holding her hand within both of his.

    "I meant what I told you earlier, literally," he said, as gently as he could. "I dreamed they were walking on the ground over me. I dreamed I was dead."


    "I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't going to tell you. But you had to know. That's how it was."

    There was a moment when neither said anything.

    "I believe you," Angie said gently. "But you know, none of what you've told me makes me understand why there was this business of walking over your grave."

    "In the dream," he told her, "it was an experiment. I was thinking of all sorts of things after Carolinus left and I didn't think I could go back to sleep, and one of the things I was groping for was a hunch about what was behind Carolinus' visit. You know how I do things. I don't ignore my hunches—so I was reaching for one, and about that time I must have fallen asleep."

    "You think just a hunch could give you a dream like that?"

    "Maybe. Remember, in this magic-filled world hunches could be more than hunches."

    He shivered, remembering the reality of his dream, then cursed himself for putting it into words, because he knew she must have felt the shiver in his hands as he held hers. "I just mean that in this world, hunches can be more than hunches."

    "I won't believe that!" said Angie. "Did Carolinus ever tell you hunches were real here?"

    "No. But he's never told me much about magic. What I've picked up from him has mainly been through watching him, listening to his talk generally, and adding two and two together."

    "Did you ever add things up to come up with this hunch idea, before last night?"

    "No, I never did before."

    "Then any hunches that made your nightmare were just that," she said. "It could just be your imagination making everything bigger than it is. What did Carolinus tell you to trigger all this off?"

    "Just reminded me the King must not die."

    She stared at him.

    "Why should he die? How could it be any business of yours if he did?"

    "I don't know," he said. "Carolinus was gone without telling me. He's said the same thing before."

    "Well, it could all be coincidence. Or it could have been just as you remember it and still be wrong. Now what's all this got to do with putting on your good clothes?"

    "That was another hunch after I got up."

    "Well, change to everyday clothes, then. Spit in the eye of the Devil!"

    She was trying to help him forget, and he loved her for it, but the reality of the dream was still with him. He would have had to tell her about it anyway, but he had made a clumsy mess of it, diving into the telling as he had.

    "No, I think I'll leave them on. Remember, it's an experiment."

    "Then leave them on! It doesn't matter. But come help me fire up the staff and maybe you can forget about it!"

    "Here I come," he said, more cheerfully than he had said anything since she had come in and found him on the bed.

    But late in the afternoon, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, with his customary entourage of chaplain, clerk, personal servants and a dozen stout men-at-arms, came visiting, and Jim had to play host to him alone, while Angie hastily changed into more formal apparel.

    The equivalent of afternoon tea was set up immediately, and they all settled down (or up, rather) in the Solar for a leisurely exchange of news and views until the formality of supper. Meanwhile, outside, the afternoon waned, to the point where the Great Gates of Malencontri were closed against the oncoming night.

    To the west of the castle, the red, late-autumn sun was still visible, but already beginning to lose its lower edges behind the tops of the thick belt of trees out of which the drifters had come the night before. Still, the fading, late-fall twilight continued to give illumination to the end of the day. Only now, only a few moments past, two riders had come out of the ruddily tipped trees, heading for the already barred Great Gates of the castle.

    Already, however, several senior men-at-arms were gathered on the catwalk, looking over that part of the castle's curtain wall to observe and leisurely discuss the newcomers. They would most certainly not be let in now, after gate-close.

    Other men-at-arms were joining them as soon as they were off duty. Men-at- arms only, for the defensive catwalk below the battlements clear around the castle wall was territory of the men-at-arms alone—ordinary Castle servants were allowed up on it solely when their added numbers were needed to repel an attack on the curtain walls.

    Regardless of this—though they could hardly have failed to understand the situation—the two now walking their horses toward the gate came on.

    It was not merely Malencontri's orders that would bar entrance to them, of course. Cities, towns, castles, even private dwellings with anything that could be stolen inside them, barred all entrances, locked all shutters and put themselves in a defensive position every eve until daybreak. It was common sense against any night attack when most inside would be sleeping. More than that: it was the custom.

    Custom, of all holy things, rating just below Faith and Love, was not there to be treated lightly in this society and time. Faith simply was, of course; Love—here in its full sense, stretching all the way from duty to a superior or an ideal, to the child who could be gotten at only over your dead body—could not be questioned. But Custom endured because what had always been must always be. Custom, sworn to in court, could make even a lord back down to a demand by his tenants. So the men-at-arm discussed the two approaching with the distant interest given to something that would have to wait until the morning to be resolved.

    The taller of the two was clearly a knight. He wore the weapons, the swordbelt. Moreover, his spurs, which might even actually be gold, glinted occasionally in the light that remained. The other, smaller rider, also weaponed but without the swordbelt, was undoubtedly his squire. It was even possible that the smaller was a younger brother or otherwise related. The two wore visorless helms and looked more than a little alike.

    But what really interested the more experienced men-at-arms was not the pair themselves so much as the armor worn by the knight. Dulled as it was by the soil of travel, it was obviously beautifully made and fitted him like a set of court clothes. A suit of armor almost beyond cost for the person who had paid the original price for it. But since he was so poor or unimportant that he traveled with none but his squire—and probably a family member at that—that person could not have been him.

    So how had it come into his possession, fitting him as perfectly as it did?

    They all turned with expressions of interest as they were abruptly joined by Theoluf, a former chief man-at-arms himself, now elevated to the rank of being their lord's squire (and now therefore officially a gentleman), but one who would still unbend to the point of speaking more on a level with his men than most squires would.

    They pointed out the stranger knight's armor, even as he and his companion reached the gate and the knight began to hammer on it with the shaft of his lance.

    "Open!" his angry shout came up to them. "Open, I say, for Edward Le Captiv!"

    Theoluf's normally good-humored—if wound-marked—face flashed into an expression of fury, terrifying behind the scar that almost split his face from right chin-point to his left forehead. Instantly he leaned over the battlements and shouted back.

    "At once, Your Grace! At once!"

    He swung back to face his men-at-arms.

    "Bone-heads! Privy-wits!" he snarled at them. "Were none of you with me on our first visit to France when we rescued him from the Rogue Magickian, Malvinne?"

    Silence. White-faced, none of them answered. The wrath faded from his expression. None had been with him in France. There was always considerable turnover in the manning of the establishment's men-at-arms, for numerous reasons. His voice became a little less outraged—but still sharp enough.

    "What do you wait for? That is the young England who asks entrance, Edward, heir to the throne! Doltst Run!"

    They ran.

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Sort by: Showing all of 6 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 13, 2014


    Anybody live in washington county utah? If u go to hurricane intermediate telk me at school btw its shannyn burns. Ttyl peeps #yoloswag

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    By George! excellent entry

    Jim Eckert loves his wife Angie who accompanied him when he left the world of his birth and being a mathematician to enter this medieval world. His new home is similar to the history of his old home, but some variance exists. Jim is an apprentice to one of the realm¿s three only AAA+ Magickians, Carolinus. His mentor is worried that the English King will die soon and assigns Jim to prevent that from happening at any cost. <P>However, whether he occupies the relatively stupid dragon Gorbash or remains in human form, Jim finds himself dealing with three global disasters. In his birth environs the plague reached Italy a few years later than the foothold it has attained in his new home. France and much of the continent is ravaged. The deadly disease is coming to England soon via a horde of goblins. The Plantagenet dynasty has moved into Jim¿s Malecontri castle, proving that a man¿s home is his monarch¿s castle. Finally, war seems eminent and Jim will be thrust into the middle of the conflict if he is not more careful. <P>Any time a Dragon novel is released, fantasy readers know they are receiving the very best in the genre. Award winning Gordon R. Dickson keeps his hero fresh while altering fourteenth century history to provide a taut but often amusing story line. THE DRAGON AND THE FAIR MAID OF KENT retains the triumphant nature of the previous novels, which says a lot because the Dragon tales are one of the all time best and long running series in any genre. <P>Harriet Klausner

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 21, 2000

    Dragon Books

    I accidentally picked up 'Dragon in Lyoness' in an airport. About 100 pages into it, I realized that this was a part of series of books. Upon return from my trip, I purchased the first couple of books (The dragon and the George, and 'The Dragon Knight') 3 days later I was back at the store buying the other 6 books available. Can't wait for the next one... no fantasy book has been the same since I started reading Dickson. I feel like I've know Jim (Baron James Eckert DuBois de Mellencountry et Riveroak) and the gang, for years. The character development is wonderful, and the plot twists bring out a constant roller coaster of emotions. Mr. Dickson.. if you are reading this... keep up the excellent work. Looking forward to many more Dragon books.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 25, 2000

    Very good series.

    I have always highly enjoyed reading the Dragon series, although it has often gone into territory highly tread, and I am certain this one will be just as good as the others. Keep your fingers, toes, elbows, and eyes crossed.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 19, 2000

    How much longer

    I gave this book 5 stars because I know it will be wonderful, even tho it has NOT been released to the book stores. Where the hell is the book! Get your collective butts in gear over there at Tor! I wanna read it!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 10, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

Sort by: Showing all of 6 Customer Reviews

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