Scream of Stone (Forgotten Realms: The Watercourse Trilogy, Book 3)
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The finale of the acclaimed Watercourse Trilogy from The New York Times best-selling author Philip Athans!
When the true mission of the Thayan Enclave is revealed, the richest man in Innarlith decides he wants to be the most powerful too, a once promising young man is transformed into a twisted undead assassin, and a quiet genius finally makes his stand, the explosive fury of decades of boiling rage explodes from the heart of a city at war with itself.
Devorast. The dwarf was a spectacle—all hair and grime and the drying crust of stale mead. But they smiled and they embraced. The other man—Willem recognized him, but the name was distant and unavailable to him—patted Devorast on the back and they sat. The man Willem couldn’t remember held up a hand and a barmaid approached with a tray. A man at another table grabbed at her behind as she passed but she didn’t notice. Laughter followed. The music came from a table in the back upon which sat an
that he was beginning to think he’d been fooled. He looked Devorast in the eye and said, “Give me your word that the water nagas will honor their agreement. Look me in the eye and tell me it wasn’t her.” Devorast looked him in the eye and said, “The water nagas will honor their agreement. It wasn’t her.” Svayyah laughed and Pristoleph shot her a dangerous look. “Release them,” the ransar said to the firedrakes, who instantly obeyed. Surero couldn’t help but notice a strange, knowing look
the mechanism, Willem knew she was close, and he was certain that when he found her, she would make everything all right. She would save him. He didn’t know her name or how they knew each other. He could form no picture of her in his reeling, increasingly dull mind. But he knew her, and he knew she was— There. Under the ground, buried. He let a ragged growl tremble unvoiced in his throat, and he fell to his knees in front of a stone. His fingers found the engraving and traced the letters. He
Devorast, even though at that moment she wanted nothing in the world more than just to look at his face. Another ghostly figure stood in the pouring rain, a few paces from the dying horse. Phyrea blinked at first because she wasn’t sure it was really him, then she blinked away tears. The sword, the ghost of her father said. Our family’s sword … It was the sword that made him this way. “Phyrea,” Devorast said, pulling her to her feet. “What could possibly have brought you here?” “Father?”
sat on a hill a hundred and thirty miles west along the Grand Canal of the Second Emperor from the city of Wuhu, a hundred and fifty miles northwest of Ch’ungkung. Ran Ai Yu stopped, the bowls of rice beginning to burn her hands, and stared at him. She had seen westerners in Shou Lung before, had seen the faraway, lost looks in their eyes, the confusion and fear in their halting speech, the insecurity that came from being in a place at once familiar and so alien. She knew she’d felt the same the