The Fall of Highwatch: Chosen of Nendawen, Book I
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An exciting new trilogy set in the far north of Faerun!
Hweilan is the last of the line of Highwatch and--as she discovers--one of the last of the Vil Adanrath, a bloodline of lycanthropes left on Faerûn. Guric, her uncle and the slayer of Hwelian's family, has released a terrible evil in order to resurrect his beloved wife and gain control of the northern countries. When Hweilan escapes Guric's schemes, she is taken in by Lendri, a Vil Adanrath who has stayed in Faerûn to help guide Hweilan to her fate.
From the Paperback edition.
left inside the gates did their duty with swords and daggers. Some small part of Guric cringed at the sounds. But then he thought of Valia. He remembered feeling the life slip out of her as he held her hand. He could still feel the cold emptiness of her dead flesh as he held her until dawn. The screams of dying Damarans didn’t mean as much anymore. Something wasn’t right. Soran’s hackles were already up as he landed his mount, and when he saw the Creel, he understood why. Even in the cold, the
the elf’s arms. The elf screamed and writhed, and Soran got off him. Brutal as it was, it was effective. They needed the elf alive—at least for now—but they couldn’t have him casting any more spells. Kadrigul’s limbs ached from the bites and claw marks he’d endured. He retrieved his sword from the far side of the pool, and when he returned, Soran was removing the last of the vines from the Creel. The man seemed to have come back to his senses somewhat. He was looking back and forth from Soran
there much less appealing than Vittamar’s.” Hweilan turned her back to him. She couldn’t stop the tears, and she hated appearing weak. Especially in front of Soran, who had nothing weak in his entire being. Everything he said made perfect sense. She felt furious at herself for not realizing the blazing obvious sooner. Shame welled in her at her own selfishness. She had been behaving like a little girl. But that still didn’t change one simple fact. Her shame melted before her anger, and she
tears from her eyes. “It’s here. Everything I need.” “Good.” Menduarthis looked down on Roakh. “Now, back to business.” He raised his hand, his fingers twirling, and Roakh’s eyes went wide. “No! You promised!” “And I’m a liar,” said Menduarthis, a stiff breeze already wafting through the room. “Even if I could trust you not to go cawing off to the queen the moment we leave—and I can’t do that, can I?—the truth is I never liked you, you conniving, greedy, gluttonous little bastard. You’ve had
Gatar. How Hweilan had ever seen the queen as a young woman her own age, she could not imagine now. The being that stood at the rim of the hollow was ancient of days, queen of winter and wielder of all its power. She held storm in her hands, and in her eyes swirled the darkest moonless midnights. All the fey lights now shone cold and white, and they swirled around her in dozens of tiny cyclones. Kunin Gatar spoke, her voice shook the ground, but the words were in a language that meant only