By Chris Evans
Bones jutted from the sand at angles—not abnormal angles, even though, for that will recommend that there have been methods bones may protrude that made sense—and the eyes of these nonetheless residing stared and observed not anything. Amidst a scene of carnage on a desolate tract battlefield covered in steel snow, significant Konowa speedy Dragon sees his destiny, and it truly is one soaking wet in shadow and blood. by no means brain that he has received a grand victory for the Calahrian Empire. He got here the following looking for his misplaced regiment of elves, whereas the Imperial Prince got here searching for the treasures of a paranormal library, and either ventures have failed. yet Konowa is familiar with, as do the Iron Elves—both residing and dead—that one other, way more vital conflict now looms prior to them. The crusade within the wasteland used to be in simple terms the most recent trouble at the twisted, darkening direction top inexorably to the Hyntaland, and the ultimate disagreement with the scary Shadow Monarch. during this 3rd novel of musket and magic in Chris Evans’s Iron Elves saga, Konowa’s final trip is fraught with escalating risk. an enormous, black woodland unearths a brand new resource of darkish energy, spawning creatures much more large than the blood bushes from which they evolve. The maniacally volatile former emissary of the Shadow Monarch hungers for revenge, best a military of starving beasts bent on completely destroying the Iron Elves. A reluctant hero, deepest Alwyn Renwar, struggles to keep up his connection to this international and that of the loyalty of the colors of the lifeless. And in a maze of underground tunnels, Visyna Tekoy, whom Konowa counts between these he has enjoyed and misplaced, fights for her existence opposed to the very elves he so desperately desires to locate. And so Konowa units off from this Canyon of Bones, pursuing his freedom from a curse that has solid his existence in darkness. For notwithstanding his lengthy, violent trek might certainly lead him to his future, he's in poor health ready for the invention he'll make . . . with the destiny of the Iron Elves, and the area, hinging at the braveness of 1 wrathful elf.
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So many gone, condemned to a living hell of service after death — and here he was, laughing. He doubled over and braced his hands against his knees, but the laughter would not die. The natural order, always a buzzing, confused noise on the edge of his understanding, coursed around him as if storm-tossed by the approaching blizzard. He didn’t even bother to make sense of it. He didn’t need to. He stood up straight, gasping for air, with tears running down his face. He was still laughing, but now finally under control.
The gilded popinjay who grew up on a diet of privilege and arrogance had run stride for stride with the regiment and had not flinched as the Iron Elves smashed into the enemy. Not having taken part in the Blood Oath, there was no afterlife waiting for the Prince, however horrific that life might be. His death in battle would be finite and forever. Leading the men, Konowa knew, was no more than what the Prince should have done, yet he couldn’t banish the grudging respect with which he now viewed the future king.
And though he didn’t give two hoots of a lice-infested owl about it, they had found a pile of books and other ancient knickknacks buried in the sand. Given all that, a foreign feeling now gripped Konowa, one that seemed at odds with the current situation. The fate of Visyna, his parents, and even Arkhorn and his squad remained to be determined, and he was no closer to reuniting with the original Iron Elves. None of that was very happy news, yet the strange emotion that now filled him only grew stronger.