By J. V. Jones
The lengthy evening has started. The Endlords and their darkish military of Unmade organize to unharness untold destruction upon the realm. each Sull warrior needs to breakthrough and struggle, or danger the North falling into everlasting darkness. Key to mankind's survival is the sacred warrior Ash March. yet for Ash to grasp her actual strength as a achieve, and develop into the Sull's maximum weapon, she needs to retain 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 purple Glaciers and recuperate the mythical sword named Loss. For Sull legend decrees that he who wields the Sword from pink Ice will carry terror to their enemies. yet fulfilment of those objectives 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 old and unguarded passage major without delay into the nation-states of guys.
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Additional info for A Sword from Red Ice: (Sword of Shadows, Book 3)
Our little contraceptive,” Kylar said. Much as he loved Uly, Kylar was convinced that she was the only reason that after three wonderful weeks on the trail with the woman he loved, he was still a virgin. ” Elene asked Uly, laughing and wisely heading off the what’s-a-contraceptive question. Uly scrunched her face and made the kissing sounds again, and soon the three of them dissolved in laughter that devolved into a tickle fight. Afterwards, sides aching from laughing so hard, Kylar listened to the sounds of the girls breathing.
She said. He dressed in moments—Blint had made him practice even this—strapping knives to his arms and legs, securing a set of picks to a wrist and a folding grapnel to the small of his back, adjusting the gray folds of cloth so they’d dampen all sound, strapping Retribution to his back, and pulling on a black silk mask. “Honey,” Elene said, her voice tight. ” He didn’t go out the door and walk down the stairs. No, not tonight. Instead, he opened the window. The air smelled good. Free. He sucked a great breath deep into his lungs and held it as if he could trap that freedom within him.
A trickle of Talent took care of that. Without a whisper of tension in his face or his forearm, Kylar clamped down on the monstrous paw in his grip and took it right to the edge of breaking. A little more and every bone in the man’s hand would shatter. After a moment, he backed off and merely matched the man, rough hand to rough hand, muscle to muscle, and eye to eye—even if he did have to look up and Braen outweighed him by a third. The panic cleared from Braen’s eyes and Kylar could see him wondering if he’d imagined the initial force of Kylar’s grip.
A Sword from Red Ice: (Sword of Shadows, Book 3) by J. V. Jones