By J. V. Jones
"Wonderful . . . J.V. Jones is a amazing writer." So says Robert Jordan, the writer of The Wheel of Time epic fable sequence. And Jones lives as much as that compliment within the hugely charged epic event of Ash March and Raif Sevrance, outcasts whose fates are entwined by way of destiny and through want, within the chilly, darkish global that threatens to be torn asunder through a struggle to finish all wars. they're yet of many that struggle the feared Endlords, yet either Ash and Raif are particular in certain ways in which isolate them, but which additionally permit them to accomplish heroic acts that will store their world.Raif, wrongly accused and bring to a halt from his extended family by means 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 higher weight. Ash is a sacred warrior to the Sull, an old race whose numbers have declined.Raised as a foundling, she by no means knew her real history, she needs to learn how to settle for the poor presents of her heritage.But as Ash learns extra of her larger 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. may still he fail, now not even Ash's powers can store them...
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Extra resources for A Fortress of Grey Ice: Book Two of Sword of Shadows
Eyes everywhere. Little mice and little telltales. Meetings by the dog cotes and the stoke holes. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Who goes where? Who does what? " Raina took a breath. She had not known it was as bad as this. "Biddie. Fetch Raina some of the griddle cakes from the hearth. " There was mothering in Merritt's voice and Raina wondered what was showing on her face to change the woolwife so. Biddie Byce's long blond braids whipped the air as she went about Merritt's bidding. She was too young to be a widow, barely nineteen winters old.
He's still nursing old hurts. What had the clan children called him when he first arrived here? Weasel Boy, that was it. Ten years ago, and he hadn't forgotten. Some light of understanding must have been showing in her face, for Mace lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I want you at my side, Raina. " It took all her concentration to keep standing. The smell of his sweat brought back memories she could not bear. The Oldwood ... his hand clamping over her mouth as he drove her head into the snow ...
Fine words. He just wished they sounded less like the truth. "Better ask why, not where, Clansman. " The Listener raised his staff to the hummock wall and began the final ascent to the rim. He moved like a spider, light and skittering, stepping sideways more often than forward. Raif envied his technique. The little tribesman was full of surprises. The frost boil was a crater of raised rock, forced upward by earth that had expanded as it froze. Raif had seen its like in the Badlands. They were good places to set camp by, and Tern said that clansmen used to fight duels in their hollows, as they were reckoned a worthy place to die.