By J. V. Jones
Excessive experience at the SWORD fringe of DESTINY
As a baby Ash March used to be abandoned--left for useless on the foot of a frozen mountain. came across and raised through the Penthero Iss, the strong Surlord of Spire Vanis, she has continually recognized she is diversified. poor desires plague her and occasionally within the darkness she hears dread voices from one other global. Iss watches her as she grows to womanhood, desirous to become aware of what powers his ward could own. As his curiosity hurries up, he sends his dwelling blade, Marafice Eye, to protect her evening and day.
Raif Sevrance, a tender guy of extended family Blackhail, additionally is aware he's diverse, with uncanny talents that distance him from the extended family. but if he and his brother live on an ambush that plunges the whole Northern Territories into conflict, he but seeks justice for his personal . . . no matter if potential he needs to forsake extended family and kin.
Ash and Raif needs to learn how to grasp their powers and settle for their joint destiny in the event that they are to defeat an historical prophecy and forestall the discharge of the natural evil often called the top Lords.
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Additional info for A Cavern of Black Ice (Sword of Shadows, Book 1)
His own situation was lamentable, he disclosed as we picked our way among the claws and tentacles of sea-creatures and the spikes of vegetables whose flesh was so difficult of access that I feared I was trying, given my ignorance of social graces, to eat table ornaments. He told us he came from Sythiphore, which we had never heard of, but whose natives are victims of slanders on their customs and religion. Had he not denied that his people were descended from sharks, I might have overlooked how widely his eyes bulged in his flat face, or what thin lips he partly masked with his beard.
They would assume that old Ringard had dined and worshipped in the fashion of his adoptive brothers. Burning an idolatrous cannibal might strike them as a diverting respite from burning witches. ” “One of their preachers, of course. An owl hooted, a wolf howled, the wind sighed among the trees—they don’t like any of that. ” He gestured at the raw gap the Holy Soldiers had cut through the hill. ” While we talked he had led me toward a pile of felled trees, tall as the cliff, that the Cluddites had pushed aside.
I spoke that question aloud, and I was answered by a crack of thunder that scrambled my bones inside my skin, by rain like a mountain torrent, by chunks of ice that rebounded from the cobblestones to the highest eaves. Bolts of lightning fell as thickly as the hail, and just as close, while I cowered in a doorway and babbled absurd promises to whatever god might protect me. I had lived through many storms in the open air, and they hadn’t much frightened me; but in the forest, I would know to avoid the oaks and festirons that heaven loves to blast and shelter under a depsad or a beech.
A Cavern of Black Ice (Sword of Shadows, Book 1) by J. V. Jones