By J. V. Jones
"Wonderful . . . J.V. Jones is a outstanding writer." So says Robert Jordan, the writer of The Wheel of Time epic myth sequence. And Jones lives as much as that compliment within the hugely charged epic experience of Ash March and Raif Sevrance, outcasts whose fates are entwined by way of destiny and through want, within the chilly, darkish international that threatens to be torn asunder by way of a conflict to finish all wars. they're yet of many that struggle the scary Endlords, yet either Ash and Raif are distinct in exact ways in which isolate them, but which additionally let them to accomplish heroic acts that may store their world.Raif, wrongly accused and bring to a halt from his extended family by way of the treachery in their new headsman, has a expertise for killing that's a part of his curse and his burden. yet he bears one other burden of larger weight. Ash is a sacred warrior to the Sull, an historic race whose numbers have declined.Raised as a foundling, she by no means knew her real historical past, she needs to discover ways to settle for the poor presents of her heritage.But as Ash learns extra of her higher destiny, Raif's job looms darkish and determined, for he needs to trip during the nightmare realm of the wish, a spot the place even the Sull now worry to tread. For deep in the wish is the fort of gray Ice, and there he needs to heal the breach within the Blindwall that already threatens the area. should still he fail, no longer even Ash's powers can store them...
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Additional resources for A Fortress of Grey Ice: Book Two of Sword of Shadows
Two meetings, both good and bad. Would that somehow she could avoid the third. There was nothing for it, though. Mace Blackhail had summoned her and she would be a fool to defy him. Gathering Merritt's cloak about her, she made for the Hail chief's chamber. ———«»——————«»——————«»——— The crooked stair was narrow and poorly lit. Once Raina had rushed down the steps, eager to be with Dagro to talk about her day. Now she moved slowly, noticing the mold on the walls and the defensive capstones overhead.
No one would have raised fancy tombs for them, that was for sure. Old Gullit's nose had been split so many times by brawling and hammer blows that it looked just like a burst plum ... and as for Thrago before him, well, men said it wasn't for nothing that he was known as the Horse Lord. Vaylo's smile faded as the corridor widened before him and he entered the coldness of the vault. The same blue light that spotted the corridor lay soft upon the standing tombs of Dhoone. They lined the great circle of the vault wall, stone coffins the size of men, with the likenesses of kings carved deep upon them, each one raised upright, as if they bore living, standing flesh, not dust.
The Listener crooked his mitted fist and turned. Slowly, he walked away, heading for the hills and frost boils that rose sharply to the north of the village. A low wind buffeted the snow and set the sea ice creaking. Raif did not want to follow. He'd been trapped once in this place. How difficult could a second entrapment be? He was a stranger here. An outsider, and without warmth and food and knowledge of the land, he'd be a dead man within a day. Reluctantly, he grabbed his Orrlsman's cloak from the ground and followed the Listener north.
A Fortress of Grey Ice: Book Two of Sword of Shadows by J. V. Jones