By J. V. Jones
The lengthy evening has began. The Endlords and their darkish military of Unmade arrange to unharness untold destruction upon the realm. each Sull warrior needs to breakthrough and struggle, or hazard the North falling into everlasting darkness. Key to mankind's survival is the sacred warrior Ash March. yet for Ash to understand her real capability as a succeed in, and turn into the Sull's maximum weapon, she needs to maintain herself secure because the perils that encompass her multiply. Raif Sevrance has an both perilous activity. The exile needs to trip to the barren wastes of the pink Glaciers and get better the mythical sword named Loss. For Sull legend decrees that he who wields the Sword from crimson Ice will carry terror to their enemies. yet fulfilment of those ambitions might but come too past due. within the distant reaches of the sour Hills, the Endlords' minions have made a cataclysmic discovery: a crack within the Blindwall, an old and unguarded passage top without delay into the nation-states of guys.
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Extra info for A Sword from Red Ice: (Sword of Shadows, Book 3)
The guards had come and found their own door locked to them. He smiled, but he also slid a wand from his coat pocket as he vaulted into the saddle of his wyvern, eyeing the crack leading into Haldren’s cell. Vaskar had already taken to the air with Haldren on his back, and Senya’s wyvern lifted off behind it. Cart had put Gaven on his own mount, and the man’s arms were wrapped around the thick chest of the warforged. ” Then Darraun followed. * * * * * Gaven looked down in front of the wyvern’s strong wings, and a thrill went down his spine.
He pressed his palms to his eyes. ” “What else, Gaven? ” The lingering memories of his nightmare started to fade, replaced by a memory of the old man’s mouth pressed against the shutter in his own cell across the hall. Gaven had seen him—out in the yard, in the library, always under the watchful eyes of the dwarf guards—but the image of his mouth was fixed in Gaven’s mind. Pale, cracked lips surrounded by white hair, a tongue occasionally darting out to moisten them. That image merged in Gaven’s mind with the vision of the Soul Reaver’s hordes—tentacles, eyes, gaping mouths—and sent a wave of nausea through him.
And to what lengths would they go to recapture him? Probably the same lengths they’ll go for me, he thought, quickly surveying the faces in the crowd around him. They reached a section of town where the stone buildings were dingy gray, and Haldren stepped through the doorway of a small hostel. A faded sign above the door showed only a unicorn that might once have been gold, but now looked dull brown. The door had been painted green a long time ago, but knives, fists, and armored shoulders had chipped away much of the color.
A Sword from Red Ice: (Sword of Shadows, Book 3) by J. V. Jones