Wraithshard: Pyre & Forge by Jonathan Moeller
English | 2020| Fantasy | ePUB | 2.0 MB
Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas. He has written the DEMONSOULED series of sword-and-sorcery novels, the TOWER OF ENDLESS WORLDS urban fantasy series, THE GHOSTS series about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the COMPUTER BEGINNER’S GUIDE sequence of computer books, and numerous other works.
To save his lands from the armies of Lord Razalis, Mazael Cravenlock must destroy the Wraithaldr, the ancient artifact of necromantic evil. But to unmake the Wraithaldr, he needs a sword of the legendary Knight Armigers. And the only place to find such a mighty blade is in the dungeons below the ruins of Castle Valdrake. Ruins from which few have ever escaped…
A vicious part of Mazael’s mind was pleased that Lucan was suffering, and pointed out that Lucan deserved much, much more for what he had done. The rest of Mazael’s mind knew that killing Lucan to avenge those who had died in the Great Rising would do nothing to help the Grim Marches and the Tervingi nation, nor would it do anything to stop Razalis and destroy the Wraithaldr. Indeed, it would create more problems, since Mazael would have to find someone else to carry the shard of the Wraithaldr now embedded in Lucan’s arm.
He just had to keep telling himself that.
They camped for the night and rose with the dawn. The griffins had fed themselves by hunting rabbits and red deer that ventured too close. Once the beasts had finished their meals, Mazael and the others mounted up and took to the skies once more, the plains rolling beneath them.
Soon the Great Mountains came into sight, the massive snow-capped peaks that marked the eastern bounds of the Grim Marches and divided the sundered realm of Calenmar from the vast wilderness of the middle lands. Toric and the other skythains steered for a gap in the mountains.
Beyond the gap was the Valley of Burned Men.
It looked like the beginnings of a mountain pass, but it was a dead end. A tall hill rose at the end of the pass, and the half-melted ruins of Castle Valdrake loomed atop the hill, looking almost like a stone candle with frozen rivulets clinging to the sides. Once the Lords of Castle Valdrake had been some of the strongest men in the Grim Marches, rich and prosperous. Their castle had been near-unassailable, and they had frequently filled their coffers by turning to banditry, confident in the power of their stronghold.