Beyond the Shadows: The Night Angel Trilogy, 3
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Logan Gyre is king of Cenaria, a country under siege, with a threadbare army and little hope. He has one chance - a desperate gamble, but one that could destroy his kingdom.
In the north, the new Godking has a plan. If it comes to fruition, no one will have the power to stop him.
Kylar Stern has no choice. To save his friends-and perhaps his enemies-he must accomplish the impossible: assassinate a goddess.
Beyond the Shadows is the action-packed conclusion to the Night Angel Trilogy.
The Way of Shadows
Beyond the Shadows
Night Angel: The Complete Trilogy (omnibus)
The Way of Shadows: The Graphic Novel
For more from Brent Weeks, check out:
The Black Prism
The Blinding Knife
The Broken Eye
The Blood Mirror
buckled. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to faint. Anything, anything to not be. But the moment stretched on and in the midst of the gale, he found himself thinking, thank the God it wasn’t Uly or Elene, and then he cursed himself for the thought. Who was he to weigh one life against another and be thankful that one should die, simply because he loved her less? He’d killed them. Count Drake had taken in a foul-mouthed, amoral guttershite and made him part of his family. And Kylar had murdered
was staring at the madman with horror. “Who is this man?” Logan demanded. High King? The mage had made it onto the balcony. He held a thick gold chain in his hands, but abruptly seemed lost. “Dorian,” Jenine said. “Gods, what have you done?” “Dead to me. Not dead but dead to me,” Dorian mumbled. “He’s a prophet,” Solon said, following in Dorian’s wake. “What he speaks is true. There’s no time, Your Majesty. We must go!” Jenine was crying. Logan pulled her into his arms, not knowing exactly
was highly sensitive. The slightest breath of wind sent waves of sensation. The skin was hairless, but the nails were grown in and perfectly trimmed. The little finger that Kylar had broken as guild rat and that would never fully straighten before was now flawless. The Wolf takes pride in his work. It’s better than the hand I lost. Kylar found his destrier waiting in the woods where he’d left it. Tribe carried him like he weighed nothing and it ate leagues for breakfast, but though he hated to
no way to win except . . .” He looked at the bones of men and thought of all the stories of krul he’d ever heard, and he thought of dipping so deeply into the vir, and he thought of men dying no matter what he did. “Yes,” he said. “There’s no way to win except to raise these monsters. It will be an orgy of death.” “Whose deaths? The invaders’ or your innocent people’s?” “The invaders’,” Dorian said. So long as he did everything right. “Then let us raise monsters,” Jenine said. 28
try, we will answer for it. Therefore, I will go. I am old. I have few years remaining to me, so my death will cost the empire less.” Of course, if he had Curoch in hand, magnifying his magical power a hundredfold, everything would change, and all of them knew it. Vürdmeister Tarus was the first to object. “Who’s put you in charge—” “Khali has,” young Borsini interrupted before Neph could. Dammit! “Khali has sent me a vision,” he said. “That’s why I asked what the Ceurans call the sword. Khali