By Steven Erikson
It truly is an indisputable fact: supply evil a reputation and everyone’s chuffed. provide it names and…why, they’re even happier.
Intrepid necromancers Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, scourges of civilization, raisers of the lifeless, reapers of the souls of the residing, devourers of desire, betrayers of religion, slayers of the blameless, and modest personifications of evil, have much to reply to for and resolution they are going to. referred to as the Nehemoth, they're pursued via numerous self-professed defenders of decency, sanity, and civilization. in spite of everything, considering the fact that whilst does evil thrive unchallenged? good, often—but now not this time.
Hot on their heels are the Nehemothanai, avowed hunters of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach. within the corporation of a group of artists and pilgrims, stalwart Mortal Sword Tulgord Vise, pious good Knight Arpo Relent, stern Huntsman Steck Marynd, and 3 of the redoubtable Chanter brothers (and their lone sister) locate themselves confronted with the most harsh of decisions. The mythical Crack’d Pot path, a stretch of harsh barren region among the Gates of Nowhere and the Shrine of the detached God, has turn into a tortured course of deprivation.
Will honor, ethical probity, and advantage end up champions within the face of brutal necessity? No, after all no longer. Don’t be silly.
At the publisher's request, this name is being bought with out electronic Rights administration software program (DRM) utilized.
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Extra resources for Crack'd Pot Trail (Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, Book 4)
A Domani. ” The fool sounded admiring! “Not a mutiny. A raid on a grand scale. ” Dragonsworn. The word was like a fist clutching Suroth’s throat. ” Galgan grimaced and made a sign against evil, apparently unconscious of doing so. ” Red-hot anger needed to erupt at Galgan, but screaming at another of the High Blood would lower her eyes. And, as bad, gain nothing. Still, it had to be directed somewhere. It had to come out. She was proud of what she had done in Tarabon, and now the country appeared to be halfway back to the chaos she found when she first landed there.
But even the servants knew. Silent tears of humiliation began to stream down her cheeks. She wanted to kill Silviana, yet that would only mean a new Mistress of Novices laying the strap across her every morning until Elaida relented. Except that Elaida would never relent. Killing her would be more to the point, yet such killings had to be carefully rationed. Too many unexpected deaths would cause questions, perhaps dangerous questions. Still, she had done what she could against Elaida. Katerine’s news of this battle was spreading through the Black Ajah, and beyond it already.
Turning with one of the lamps in her hand, she gave a start and a choked cry at the sight of Almandaragal looming in the corner, his dark, ridge-ringed eyes focused on her. You would think she had never seen him before! Yet he was a fearsome sight, ten feet tall and near two thousand pounds, his hairless skin like reddish brown leather, flexing his six toed forepaws so his claws extended and retracted, extended and retracted. “Be at ease,” Suroth told the lopar, a familiar command, but he stretched his mouth wide, showing sharp teeth before settling back to the floor and resting his huge round head on his paws like a hound.