By Vox Day

In Selenoth, the race of guy is at the ascendant. the traditional dragons sleep. The ghastly Witchkings are not any extra; their evil energy destroyed by means of the braveness of guys and the fearsome magic of the Elves. The Dwarves have retreated to the kingdoms of the Underdeep, the trolls disguise of their mountains, or even the savage orc tribes have realized to dread the iron self-discipline of Amorr's potent legions. yet after 400 years of mutual suspicion, the competition among of the homes Martial that rule the Amorran Senate threatens to show violent, and unrest sparks uprising in the course of the imperial provinces. within the north, the barbarian reavers who've lengthy plagued the coasts of the White Sea beg for the royal security of the King of Savondir, as they flee a vicious race of wolf-demons. within the east, the struggle drums echo in the course of the mountains as orcs and goblins assemble in nice numbers, summoned via their bestial gods.

And whilst the main Holy and Sanctified Father is located lifeless in his mattress, leaving the Ivory Throne of the Apostles unclaimed, the temptation to grab the Sacred collage and wield Holy mom Church as a weapon is greater than a few fallen souls can resist.

About the Author:
Vox Day is a online game fashion designer who writes epic myth in addition to non-fiction approximately faith, philosophy, and economics. His literary concentration is historic verisimilitude and characters who symbolize the total spectrum of human habit. He speaks 3 languages and is a three-time Billboard most sensible forty recording artist.
He retains a regular weblog on present occasions and advancements in technology Fiction and delusion publishing right here:

Print size: 811 pages
Publisher: Castalia condominium (January 31, 2014)
Sold via: Amazon electronic companies, Inc.
Language: English

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Additional resources for A Throne of Bones (Arts of Dark and Light)

Example text

The nascent cities were wreathed in the smoke of forges, pyres, the red glow of humanity's dawn. The First Empire had risen, on a continent half a world away from where K'rul now walked. An empire of humans, born from the legacy of the T'lan Imass, from whom it took its name. But it had not been alone for long. Here, on Jacuruku, in the shadow of long-dead K'Chain Che'Malle ruins, another empire had emerged. Brutal, a devourer of souls, its ruler was a warrior without equal. K'rul had come to destroy him, had come to snap the chains of twelve million slaves – even the Jaghut Tyrants had not commanded such heartless mastery over their subjects.

Maybe I should collect her now, then. She's liable to poke someone full of holes with that rapier of hers. ' 'Ah, well. ' 'I do,' Gruntle replied. 'Not to be too immodest, sir, the three of us working the same contract are as good as twice that number, when it comes to protecting a master and his merchandise. ' 'Your rates were high? I see. Hmm. ' Gruntle managed to avoid gaping. ' 'Excellent. ' The door swung shut. As it turned out, Harllo was already returning to the carriage, fishing pole in one massive hand, a sad sandal-sole of a fish clutched in the other.

The Jaghut mother lowered her head until her brow rested against the cool, damp sand. Grit pressed into the skin of her forehead with raw insistence. The burns there were too recent to have healed, nor were they likely to – she was defeated, and death had only to await the arrival of her hunters. They were mercifully competent, at least. These Imass cared nothing for torture. A swift killing blow. For her, then for her children. And with them – with this meagre, tattered family – the last of the Jaghut would vanish from this continent.

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