Elizabeth H. Boyer

Ivarr had been sold to the witch Birna. But now Birna was dead, slain by the evil sorcerer Lorimer. Ivarr was stranded in the land of the elves. His only chance to return to his own realm was to become a hero for a group of outcast, incompetent elves and a wizard of doubtful qualifications. As he discovered, being a hero was a little difficult. First he had to seek out a magic sword concealed somewhere in the land of the fire giants. Then, to seize a horde of gold, he must somehow find and destroy a terrible dragon. And, finally, he would have to overcome the power of Lorimer and an army of dark elves. Ivarr knew nothing about being a hero, and the more he heard, the less he liked the idea. But a hero he'd be--or else!

Synopsis - Siguard grew up with his grandmother, bothered only by the trolls that seemed bent on destroying their settlement. Then she died, leaving him a mysterious box he couldn’t open and a confused warning against some dread warlord or wizard – he couldn’t be sure of which from her final ravings. Then the grim warlord Halldane came to abduct him by force into the Realm of the Altar. Now he was a virtual prisoner in the hill fort of Halldane, caught in a bitter war between light and dark elves. And he seemed trapped on the losing side. His only hope was to escape and somehow learn what powerful magic was contained in the box and which everyone seemed bent on stealing from him. Of course, there were a few walking dead, a cursed sword and a multitude of savage trolls to be faced. But the strange wizard Jotull was willing – oh, very willing – to help him.

Kilgore had long dreamed of great adventures and magic. But when he alone proved able to draw the magic sword Kildurin he found himself embroiled in more than he had wanted. With the aid of a crotchety old wizard he set out for the far north across lands beset with trolls, frost giants, dark elves, and all the minions of dark sorcery. It was his duty to find and destroy the evil wizard Surt, who was threatening to bring never-ending darkness and eternal winter to the land of Skarpsey. If he could survive the perils of the journey, he would then have to face Surt alone -- one man and his sword against the might of the greatest wizard and all his cohorts. And there was a further problem. There had been twenty previous attempts to end the life of Surt, and all had failed. Surt, it seemed, could not be killed!

Fleeing his enemies, Leifr, a young Viking, escapes into the Alfar realm and takes on the identity of the long-lost Fridmarr, only to discover that Fridmarr had betrayed both his own people and their arch-enemy, the evil wizard Sorkvir.

Mistislaus was a wizard. He was old, absentminded, and his potions and spells barely brought in enough money to put food on his table. In short, he was the last person who could be expected to raise a little girl -- in the normal run of things. But since the Dark Elves had overrun Fairholm -- slaughtering any who resisted -- nothing ran in a normal course. Like it or not, Mistislaus found himself saddled with a baby. He called her Skyla. And Skyla, he soon learned, was a witch . . . Little Skyla grew up knowing that she was no ordinary orphan -- she was heir to the proud name and magic of the true rulers of Fairholm. And so she dared to dream. She learned from old Mistislaus, and she roamed the moors, learning the languages of animals. She molded tiny figures of mud and spittle, and she brought them to life. And she dreamed of avenging the parents she had never known and of claiming the fabled lost treasure the Dark Elves could not find

Brak just wanted to help Ingvold, the elfin girl who was cursed by the witch-queen Hjordis to act as a hag. He never expected his efforts to lead him through a strange gate to the world of the Alfar, where the dark elves were fighting to destroy all the light elves. As a humble thrall, he had no business there. But he was trapped. Ingvold had given him the dragon's heart, the only hope the light elves had to summon aid from the Rhybus. He could not let that fall into the hands of Hjordis or Myrkjartan, the dreadful necromancer who was mustering armies of the dead against all that was good in the world. Betrayed by the wiles of the wizard Skalgr, Brak struggled to master the magic of the dragon's heart and recover the weapons of power that would, perhaps, bring victory to Ingvold and her people. It was too much, even for a hero. And Brak was no hero!