The Shield of Weeping Ghosts (Forgotten Realms: The Citadels)
James P. Davis
Language: English
Pages: 310
ISBN: 0786948779
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The past will come back to haunt them...
A group of warriors from Rashemen escorts an exiled wizard to a ruined citadel in the City of Weeping Ghosts. Once there, the wizard discovers a barbarian tribe is trying to unlock the secrets of the citadel and the weapon that destroyed it two thousand years ago.
A series that centers on the citadels - castles, keeps, fortreeses, and watchtowers - of the Forgotten Realms world, each book in The Citadels series is a self-contained fantasy adventure.
The Gossamer Plain (Forgotten Realms: The Empyrean Odyssey, Book 1)
Canticle (Forgotten Realms: The Cleric Quintet, Book 1)
Pathfinder Chronicles: Book of the Damned Volume 3 - Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Extinction (Forgotten Realms: R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen, Book 4)
Extinction (Forgotten Realms: R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen, Book 4)
Arcane Power (Dungeons & Dragons 4th Ed: Supplement)
Focused on descending the stairs, keeping alert, and finishing what he had begun—what had begun long ago. The rest of him felt a mess, a jumble of emotions, questions, and doubts. His cheeks were cold, a few tears freezing before they could roll away, but he could not determine for whom they fell. Ghosts flitted by as time rolled in random directions around him. The memories of the Shield were his memories, though the details were fleeting as if the stone were alive and forgetting things as it.
Though the Ilythiiri had left the surface of the world, bits of their sorcery still remained in places like Shandaular. The shattered portal, like all the city’s dead, had little resemblance to what it had been in life, yet in death it had also refused to lay quiet. Fearful of surrounding enemies and the growing darkness in the western forests, King Arkaius had used knowledge gleaned from the Ilythiiri runes for his own ends. Just as a city had grown around the portal, Bastun feared others might.
Berserker, a man barely old enough to join the fang. Brushing some snow away from the stone, Bastun found a darker substance mixed beneath it. Pulling his hand back, the familiar scent of brimstone filled him with alarm as he uncovered another sigil of ash, just like the ones that marred the wychlaren’s path. A bone-numbing cold stole his voice and he doubled over in pain, rolling away from the wall and struggling to breathe. Once-sightless eyes blinked at him and rolled in their sockets, bits.
The sudden shock of mortality brought an unexpected clarity to his thoughts. He couldn’t raise his axe in time to stop the sword, but it didn’t seem to matter as much as he’d expected only moments before. The blade fell, a silver stroke of lightning through the storm of darkness that threatened to overtake his vision. The room blurred, something shoved him out of the way, and he rolled onto his stomach. Steel sang like a stricken anvil as he glanced up and saw Duras standing in his place. Swords.
He imagined were invisible, the ash and char only in his mind. He sensed eyes upon him and turned his head toward the top of the next flight of stairs. She stood quietly, a blank expression on her face. Sorrow had left, leaving only deep emptiness and resignation. Athumrani’s daughter stared down upon him with eyes that matched the misery of her cursed existence. Her ghostly brothers and sister swirled around her frantically, though she remained unaffected by their madness. Ashen chains smashed.