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By Brent Weeks

From the New York Times bestselling writer of The Black Prism...

Gavin Guile is demise.

He'd notion he had 5 years left--now he has under one. With fifty thousand refugees, a bastard son, and an ex-fiancée who can have discovered his darkest mystery, Gavin has difficulties on each facet. All magic on the planet is operating wild and threatens to damage the Seven Satrapies. Worst of all, the previous gods are being reborn, and their military of colour wights is unstoppable. the single salvation could be the brother whose freedom and existence Gavin stole 16 years in the past.

The Black Prism
The Blinding Knife
The damaged Eye
The Blood Mirror

For extra from Brent Weeks, payment out:
Night Angel
The means of Shadows
Shadow's Edge
Beyond the Shadows

Night Angel: the entire Trilogy (omnibus)

Perfect Shadow: an evening Angel Novella (e-only)
The method of Shadows: The picture Novel

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And at last, in his darkened cabin, by myself, he wept. no longer for what have been, yet for what he knew he needs to turn into. bankruptcy four Karris hadn’t joined the revelers celebrating surviving their brush with the ocean demon. She woke ahead of sunrise and made her ablutions, and brushed out her hair to provide herself time to imagine. It didn’t aid. the key used to be rubbing Karris like a burr below the cinch strap. She sure hair black as her temper again in a ponytail as ordinary. She’d spent the final 5 days placing items jointly: Gavin “falling sick” after the final conflict of the warfare opposed to his brother Dazen; Gavin breaking their betrothal; Gavin being astonished at studying approximately his bastard son Kip; Gavin being varied. Then she’d wasted time pondering how she’d been so dense. She—and each person else—had attributed the alterations to the trauma of battle, the trauma of killing his personal brother. His prismatic eyes were facts, facts that Gavin used to be Gavin. Gavin used to be significant and particularly the liar, yet he shouldn’t were in a position to idiot her. She knew him too good. extra to the purpose, she knew Dazen too good. That used to be entire. She made her solution to the forecastle as she had each morning and started stretching. She went loopy if she didn’t perform a little calisthenics on a daily basis. Her more suitable, Commander Ironfist, had thoughtfully introduced her units of blacks to put on, and either tunic and pants have been cotton infused with luxin—snug in spots, versatile all over the place, made for circulate premiere and secondly to teach off the Blackguards’ hardened physiques. yet notwithstanding grunting and sweating have been half and parcel of her existence, that didn’t suggest she desired to proportion it with each cretin on deck. “May I? ” Ironfist requested, coming onto the deck. The commander of the Blackguard used to be a tremendous guy. an exceptional chief. shrewdpermanent, tricky, and intimidating as hell. whilst Karris nodded, he got rid of his headband and folded it smartly. It was once a Parian non secular customized, the boys masking their heads in recognize to Orholam. yet there have been exceptions, and prefer many Parians, Ironfist believed the injunction purely utilized as soon as the sunlight had risen totally above the horizon. Ironfist had as soon as plaited his wiry black hair, yet after the conflict of Garriston and the demise of such a lot of of his Blackguards, he’d shaved his head thoroughly bald in mourning. one other Parian customized. the scarf that had as soon as coated his glory might now conceal his grief. Orholam. all of the useless Blackguards, lots of them killed while by way of one exploding shell, a fortunate shot that cared not anything for his or her elite abilities in drafting and combating. Her colleagues. Her pals. It was once a yawning pit, devouring every thing yet her tears. Coming to face parallel to Karris, Ironfist introduced his fingers jointly, then separated them to a low-high safeguard. It was once the start of the Marsh ka. an appropriate starting, whilst muscle mass weren’t hot, and the ka didn’t variety some distance, so their strikes may perhaps healthy in the small confines of the forecastle. Sweep low, flip, again kick, roundhouse, land at the different foot, balance—not as effortless a job as ordinary at the bobbing deck.

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