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IV DARK SUN Vision returned to Izrak as he stood upon the altar. Lebi was gone, taking with her whatever warmth had remained to a day growing cold under the weary eye of the late afternoon sun. The dead man fell to his knees. Trembling fingers raked over the stone where she had stood mere moments before—and yet so long ago. His roar reverberated through the chamber, his eyes flaring with hellfire. Stone fractured under the force of his fists crashing against the floor. Then silence, and Izrak shrank into himself. Light spilled into the narthex as the iron doors…
Aisling held what remained of Blightheart by his horn, throwing the goblin magelord’s head at the boots of her liege lord, Árdghal, who had commanded his fighters to cleanse his lands of the vile bastard’s black magic. “You have done well, Aisling.” He leaned forward in his throne, examining the grotesque grimace gazing upward from the straw and cobbles. Aisling did not kneel. She did not bow her head. Tough as leather, she crossed her sinewy arms and smirked. She met her liege lord’s eyes as if she were his equal, as if she were his better. “The deed is…
Prologue No one expects a dead man to walk through the front door. This time was no different. The dozen patrons of the Soul’s Lament went silent as the cobbled door whined on its hinges, and Izrak Laav crossed over the threshold, ducking his head as he passed inside. A trio of men, grim faces flushed, eyes glazed in a half-drunken stupor, sat at a table near the door. Shifting in their chairs as the dead man approached, they whispered as quivering hands hovered over unseen knives. Izrak glanced at the vagrants, the iron studs of his jerkin and mail…
