The Endlords awake after centuries of slumber and the soul of the world hangs in the balance. Raif Sevrance, leaves the Maimed Men in search of the legendary Sword From Red Ice. Half a continent away, Raina Blackhail tries to save her clan from being overrun by Scarpes. To the south, an army prepares to attack. Dark forces will be unleashed, and unimaginable treachery on the battlefield will lead to a shift in power. A leader has fallen and the race to replace him will leave no one unchanged.
He could feel it now, the freezing fog, switching back and forth between ice and superfine droplets of water, moving between worlds. The Red Ice spread out before him like an eye full of blood. How many men had died here? How many bodies waited beneath the surface to be released? He could see them now, pale legs and torsos, severed heads and smashed feet. All mouths and eyes were open and gaping; black holes in the ice where the terror still lived. The demon hordes of the Unmade had slaughtered thousands. It was easy to close your eyes and see the violent fury, the cracking of spines, the blades of voided steel hacking limbs. Was it possible that such a dread battle would need to be fought again? Raif Sevrance could not say “No.”
The Long Night has begun. The Endlords and their dark army of Unmade prepare to unleash untold destruction upon the world. Every Sull warrior must step forward and fight, or risk the North falling into eternal darkness.
Ash floated. Tilting her head back, she let her arms and legs rise to the surface. Mist enveloped her, wrapping around her belly and thighs, cupping her neck. Sending her to sleep.
How many Mor Drakka had existed? Raif only knew of Raven Lord, the one beneath the Red Ice. Had there been more? He let the thought turn in his mind. The image of Raven Lord’s frozen corpse was all he possessed to instruct him on how to live. Mor Drakka died in battle, in terrible pain, alone, his face concealed by a death helm of metal hooks, his body hung frozen and disregarded for a thousand years. That was what Mor Drakka was to Raif. His fate. And he did not want it, and thought he could not escape it, that everything he did or did not do would lead to a violent and solitary death.
