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By Jeff Wheeler

Tyrus of Kenatos has made it his life’s paintings to banish the plagues that ravage the kingdoms. He believes the reply to finishing the devastation lies within the Scourgelands. but, Tyrus’s first excursion into the cursed woods failed after being defeated by way of mysterious minions who stalked and killed such a lot of his band.

Now a prisoner in his personal tower, Tyrus has summoned his nephew Annon—a Druidecht owning innate magic referred to as the fireblood—on the guise of discovering a hidden treasure with which to buy his dual sister Hettie’s freedom. yet in truth, Tyrus is utilizing his niece and nephew, and their magic, as a chance to flee and resume his determined venture. And to help them, he has enlisted the warrior-monk Paedrin—who is sort of as eco-friendly because the siblings by way of touring those lands. The trio is decided, and alongside the best way they develop to belief each one other—and new additions to the group—in order to complete their missions…whether or no longer these missions are one and an identical.

But the Arch-Rike—ruthless ruler of Kenatos—has discovered of those plans, and has despatched the fearsome Kishion to wreck all those who oppose him. Now Tyrus and his unwitting allies needs to face down not just the plague, yet this new enemy—and satisfy their quest earlier than a clean horror is unleashed at the world…

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In a few kingdoms our race is persecuted. i'm going to in basic terms use it as a last inn. ” Paedrin checked out Hettie narrowly after which again at Annon. “It turns out your sister went a bit too a ways with it this present day. You needed to strike her to get her to prevent. I volunteer subsequent time. ” He began again at the street at a brisk stroll, by no means in retrospect at them. Annon glanced at Hettie, attempting to comprehend her. She stared at Paedrin with a glance of defiance, her mouth twisted unpleasantly downward. Then she whispered, “Thank you, Annon. I approximately misplaced myself within the flames. the boys hiding within the garbage weren't Preachán. They have been Romani. ” As she stated the ultimate, her eyes burned with hatred. “How time and again have you ever used it? ” Annon requested her, pulling her after him. “I used to be frightened approximately you. The glance on your eyes worried me. ” She nodded, casting her gaze down. “Me to boot. I don’t wish to use it. It makes you need to use it time and again. There are tales of these who cross mad. ” “I know,” Annon acknowledged, gripping her arm in order that they may perhaps continue velocity with one another. “I imagine you will have used it greater than i've got. If we are facing chance like that back, permit me act by myself at the start. withstand it, Hettie. until i would like you. ” with no arguing, she gazed into his eyes, a haunted expression in hers. to name Havenrook a city implied that there have been borders and streets and homes. That was once a greater description of Kenatos. as an alternative, Havenrook was once a stockyard adjoining to a slaughterhouse—all pens and sheds and braying animals, smoke, and reeking fumes. there have been wagons loaded with numerous shipment; wiry Preachán males stood atop, shouting bids for every wagonload there. The phrases combined with flashing fingers, tapped noses, till a bell tolled signaling the top of the alternate. A cart of lettuces used to be offered. A wagon loaded with apple barrels lumbered through. Pens of pigs and black-and-white cows stuffed each on hand area. The crowds have been unending. by way of the cups of beer sloshing in approximately each on hand hand, Annon discovered that the trades have been most likely became over 3 or 4 instances ahead of sunrise while the Romani caravans might commence on a brand new day. As Hettie, Annon, and Paedrin entered the fray, trying to find something even remotely akin to an resort, a relentless shove and jostle tensed Annon’s persistence right into a skinny twine back. Paedrin used to be the one Vaettir amidst the gang of Aeduan and Preachán. a few checked out him in shock, leered at him, and persevered haggling over a cask of salted fish. The odor of Havenrook used to be six levels of demise. items have been exchanged. Heavy chests loaded with ducats exchanged fingers in addition. The jarring noise of the callers, the snapping and whistling and goading of horseflesh had made him bodily sick. Paedrin slapped his palm down opposed to a man’s hand that was once groping at his gowns, then he fast torqued one in every of his arms and snapped it, making the fellow howl in discomfort. With a shove, he despatched him sprawling away. Annon checked out him in shock. “He touched me,” Paedrin stated with disgust. “Keep going. Any recommendations on the place we'll locate your pal?

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