The Stiehl Assassin by Terry Brooks (The Fall of Shannara #3)
English | 2019 | Fantasy | ePUB | 4.0 Mb
The Stiehl Assassin : After The Black Elfstone and The Skaar Invasion comes the next chapter in the Fall of Shannara, a saga more than four decades in the making.
The Skaar have arrived in the Four Lands, determined to stop at nothing less than all-out conquest. They badly need a new home, but peaceful coexistence is not a concept they have ever understood. An advance force under the command of the lovely princess Ajin has already established a foothold, but now the full Skaar army is on the march—and woe betide any who stands in its way.
But perhaps the Skaar victory is not quite as much of a foregone conclusion as they all assume. The Druid Drisker Arc has freed both himself and Paranor from their involuntary exile. Drisker’s student, Tarsha Kaynin, has been reunited with Dar, chief defender of what is left of the Druid order, and is learning to control her powerful Wishsong magic. If they can only survive Tarsha’s brother and the Druid who betrayed Drisker Arc, they might stand a chance of defeating the Skaar. But that is a very big if…as Tarsha’s brother now carries the Stiehl—one of the most powerful weapons in all the Four Lands, and is determined to take his revenge on everyone he feels has wronged him.
“Come alive, precious thing,” he whispered. And the wire began to writhe and twist in his fingers.
He worked it for almost an hour—a slow and arduous effort that left him sweating within his robes. But he did not desist or slacken, keeping a steady pace. To Tavo, he gave no thought, unworried that he might bolt or attack him or otherwise misbehave; he had seen it in Tavo’s eyes when he had warned him. For now, there would be no foolish acts.
The time crept by, but Tarsha and the others stayed away as he had directed, leaving him alone with his work. The fine wire—part of a string drawn from a metal created centuries ago and housed in the Druid archives—continued to gain strength and brilliance, lengthening now as well as softening, steadily becoming close to a living presence. The day was advancing, but a wintry gloom persisted and the air did not warm. All around him lay the snowfall, a white covering over limbs and trunks, over ground and brush, soft and feathery. The forest was still. No animals asserted their presence, and no birds flew or sang.
The world felt hushed and waiting, invisible eyes watching.
When he had finished working the wire to his satisfaction, it had become less round and more flat. The runes he had summoned earlier had become deeply etched on both sides and still glowed with silvery light. He wound it twice about itself, then turned to Tavo.
“Lean forward,” he ordered.”