Tower Lord (A Raven's Shadow Novel)
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New York Times bestselling author Anthony Ryan returns to the “wonderful universe” (Fantasy Book Critic) of Blood Song, as Vaelin Al Sorna continues on his inevitable road to destiny…
King Janus’s vision of a Unified Realm has failed, drowned in the blood of brave men fighting for a cause that was forged from a lie. Sick at heart, Vaelin Al Sorna, warrior of the Sixth Order, returns home, determined to kill no more, seeking peace far from the intrigues of a troubled Realm.
But those gifted with the blood-song are not destined to live quiet lives. Vaelin finds himself a target, both for those seeking revenge and those who know about his gift. And as a great threat once again moves against the Realm, Vaelin realizes that when faced with annihilation, even the most reluctant hand must eventually draw a sword.
stone, overlapping each other in a red collage. More than one. Probably more than two. The realisation was cold and implacable. The Sons, it had to be. The Sons are here, and they have not come for me. Her immediate instinct was to flee. The manor would soon be in an uproar, bringing danger but also the chance to slip away in the confusion, carrying her prize . . . They’re going to kill my uncle. That this undeniable fact was unwelcome surprised her. Her only living blood relative, a man she
his long sword through then followed, coughing and retching from the stench. Davoka was next, her spear clattering past them before her head appeared, teeth bared as she tried to pull herself free. Frentis and Arendil took hold of her arms and hauled her out, Arendil gaping at her bare though shit-covered breasts. She cuffed him on the side of the head and retrieved her spear. “How do we find our way down here?” Arendil asked, rubbing his stinging head. Frentis found he had a laugh in him. “How
silent, face tensed against more tears. “Other than the men with whips,” Frentis said. “Were there guards? Soldiers?” “There were some men on horses with swords and spears. Perhaps six or seven.” Frentis smiled and gestured at the stewpot. “Eat, my lady. You must be hungry.” He inclined his head at Master Grealin and Davoka and they went a short distance into the trees, beyond earshot of the others. “Two thieves and a couple of children,” Grealin said. “Plus a fat old man. Not an impressive
here,” she said. “And if you bother my uncle with any more of your old fool’s prattle, we’ll see what the heretics outside the walls will do to two such godly souls as you.” He bit down an unwise retort and turned to go. “And tell him,” she said to his retreating back, “that when this is over he’d better cough up the name of that bastard who raised me. Tell him that.” ◆ ◆ ◆ “Was it horrible?” Veliss asked. They sat in the library, her uncle asleep upstairs. The priest’s visit had sent him
dived to mask her with his greater bulk. The Volarian shafts sounded like a hailstorm as they covered the ship, Arken giving a shout of pain and collapsing onto her, bearing her down to the deck. She stared out from beneath his elbow to see four of her men pinned to the boards, pierced from head to toe. Arken grunted and tried to rise. “The river!” Reva hissed. Arken gripped her tight and rolled them both towards the port rail. He tumbled over as another volley descended, plunging straight into