“He comes from hell, there’s no doubt about it, from the gates of the underworld itself, where all great and terrible monsters come from.” The slack jawed mercenary took a giant swig, gulping down the mead in his clay cup.

The historian grabbed up his maps, keeping them from the clumsy mercenary. Estion had a hard enough time reading the maps of Old Romany without sloshes of mead on them. “You aren’t listening.” But he should have expected that from loose, unowned soldiers. He corrected his glasses. “Ryven is a sell-sword like yourself, just an ordinary man with extraordinary abilities. Not only does he speak to the divine dead but he slaughters them too, keeps them dead Read More