By J. V. Jones
The lengthy evening has began. The Endlords and their darkish military of Unmade organize to unharness untold destruction upon the area. each Sull warrior needs to leap forward and struggle, or probability the North falling into everlasting darkness. Key to mankind's survival is the sacred warrior Ash March. yet for Ash to grasp her actual power as a achieve, and turn into the Sull's maximum weapon, she needs to preserve herself secure because the perils that encompass her multiply. Raif Sevrance has an both perilous job. The exile needs to go back and forth to the barren wastes of the crimson Glaciers and get well the mythical sword named Loss. For Sull legend decrees that he who wields the Sword from purple Ice will deliver terror to their enemies. yet fulfilment of those pursuits may well 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 historical and unguarded passage best 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)
When they did that, only other girls could get near them. Nikolas wasn’t done, though. “Also, when you’re done with Lena, I want you to come up to my rooms. ” Well, so much for the book. Oh well. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be trivial. Strange as it seemed, Mags was the King’s Own’s private information source, and even sometimes a sort of spy. Books could wait. “Yessir,” he said, and waited to see if there was anything else Nikolas wanted him for. ” Nikolas said, tapping him on the top of the head with the rolled-up message.
And yet, I have to sign to say it’s justified. ” Mags peered at the paper. “Bear would prob’ly know,” he suggested, trying to be helpful. Caelen laughed. “Well, since he’s the one that put in the request for it, I sincerely hope so. ” He put aside the piece of paper, and looked Mags over. “You’re growing,” he noted, nodding approvingly. “It’s good to see you filling out, considering the size you were when you arrived. ” Mags looked down at himself. “Can’ really help it,” he said, shrugging. ” The Herald rubbed his greying temples.
He took a long deep breath of the comforting smell of the Companions’ stable; clean straw, clean “horse,” a hint of damp wool, another hint of woodsmoke. If “home” had a scent, this was it. All of the pristine white “horses” in the building looked in his direction for a moment before going back to whatever it was they had been doing. For a moment, Mags was the focus of a sea of blue eyes. The largest stallion in the building, who had presumably been chatting with two other Companions in the middle of the aisle between the stalls, gave him a long look down his aristocratic nose that Mags read as disapproving.
A Sword from Red Ice: (Sword of Shadows, Book 3) by J. V. Jones