By J. V. Jones
"Wonderful . . . J.V. Jones is a remarkable 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 event of Ash March and Raif Sevrance, outcasts whose fates are entwined via destiny and by means of want, within the chilly, darkish international that threatens to be torn asunder via a struggle to finish all wars. they're yet of many that struggle the scary Endlords, yet either Ash and Raif are targeted in precise ways in which isolate them, but which additionally allow them to accomplish heroic acts that will shop their world.Raif, wrongly accused and bring to an end 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 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 actual 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 activity looms darkish and determined, for he needs to trip throughout the nightmare realm of the wish, a spot the place even the Sull now worry to tread. For deep in the wish is the citadel of gray Ice, and there he needs to heal the breach within the Blindwall that already threatens the realm. may still he fail, now not even Ash's powers can shop them...
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Extra resources for A Fortress of Grey Ice: Book Two of Sword of Shadows
Keep the shawl about you. It's cold in this roundhouse ... " Tiny hairs on Raina's arms rose. Merritt's words were old and she did not know where they came from, but they stirred something within her. Unnerved, she turned to go. Merritt caught her wrist. "You are welcome in this hearth, Raina Blackhail. " Raina nodded. She could not speak to thank her. The journey down through the roundhouse was long and tiring, and she found herself making stops along the way. She saw the casual glances fromcharwomen and alewives differently now.
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. Too soon she was there. The tar coating the chief's door seemed to ooze from the wood in the torchlight, and she did not want to put a hand upon it. Mace saved her the trouble by pushing from the other side.
It was only a few months past when Shor Gormalin had presented such a token to her. He had given her the broken tip from his first sword, polished by his own hand, set with an uncut garnet, and mounted as a brooch. Thinking of it, Raina tried to hold her smile but failed. "Wed me, Raina," he had said. " Shor. Such a strong and thoughtful man. He should have been her second husband and Blackhail's chief. Not Mace. Not the man who had raped her. "Here. Pull this round you. " Merritt arranged a fine wool shawl across Raina's shoulders, pulling it here and there until it covered all bare skin.