By J. V. Jones
The lengthy evening has all started. The Endlords and their darkish military of Unmade organize to unharness untold destruction upon the area. 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 grasp her precise strength as a succeed in, and turn into the Sull's maximum weapon, she needs to hold herself secure because the perils that encompass her multiply. Raif Sevrance has an both perilous job. The exile needs to shuttle to the barren wastes of the crimson Glaciers and recuperate 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 overdue. 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 prime at once into the geographical regions of guys.
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Extra resources for A Sword from Red Ice: (Sword of Shadows, Book 3)
A pleasant face, black hair and big brown eyes, conservative business suit, pearl earrings. Attractive in a wholesome way, if you weren't put off by brains. Probably has a studio apartment on the Upper West Side, he thought, and checked his notebook. Yup. And a cat, and went to the opera fairly often, and read books Carmaggio'd never heard of. The only thing not on the to-be-expected list was the other picture on her desk; a young man in baggy olive-green BDU's, smiling, an Army-issue drab towel around his neck and a helmet under one arm.
Is it true? " Gwen tapped at the edge of the viewscreen. "If you can match this on Earth today, I'm the greatest liar since Thomas Jefferson," she said coldly, and tapped again. Once more there was nothing but a thin sheet of nonreflective black. Cairstens buried his face in his hands and wept, quietly and passionately. Their table was in a discreet corner; nobody noticed until he was done, and then Gwen signaled a waiter over. "Vodka and orange juice," she said. " The man gulped his drink in two mouthfuls.
She shook her head. " I don't want you on your own for long, not for a couple of weeks yet. It would take that long to get her settled in and accepting the situation. The alternative was to snap her neck, but that would be wasteful; besides that, she was likable. "Now, let's keep going. " "No. " Dolores was trying to keep the quaver out of her voice, Gwen noted with approval. "Nobody is more than seven acquaintances away from anyone else. For instance, you know this Señor Mondragón—" "Just his name, from the papers.
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