The Sword Never Sleeps: The Knights of Myth Drannor, Book III
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A classic, Lieber-esque sword and sorcery adventure!
A cry for heroes went out from the kingdom of Cormyr when treachery threatened to bring her low, and the Knights of Myth Drannor answered that call. Earning praise from the Crown itself for their efforts, the Knights earned the name of adventurers. But to save Cormyr, they must become more than mere adventurers. The Knights must become heroes.
The Sword Never Sleeps is the epic conclusion to the classic adventures of Forgotten Realms® world creator Ed Greenwood's most beloved characters, the Knights of Myth Drannor.
no more than a thief, before he’d found the Qaethur. It had been the Qaethur, a worn and chipped gemstone carved into a shallow relief depiction of a human face, that barely filled his palm, that had whispered to him, opening up a door in his mind to the glory of the Weave. Unthinking and eternal, the Qaethur spoke the same things to everyone who touched it. He had been one of the lucky few. He had Varandrar to thank for that. The senior Zhent in Arabel had sent him to do that slaying and
heard about, in all our visits to revels and Court functions. Seems he liked treating ladies rather cruelly. I can provide details if you’d like.” “Spare me,” Islif said. “And what’re you wearing that sword belt for? That sheath makes you look ridiculous. Like a—a—” She blushed, unexpectedly, and turned her head away. “An extra nightblade sticking out of my forehead?” Semoor asked cheerfully. “Hadn’t thought of that, but I quite like the notion.” He struck a pose and strutted a few steps,
said, “You’re never just you, big ranger man.” Semoor started to chuckle—until the dust made him choke. Evidently his eyes had been open, too, and the glowstone he had out had given him light enough to see the expression on Florin’s face. The ranger cleared his throat loudly and told Pennae, “I, ah, have to check on the others. Ah, right now.” He hastily turned away. Pennae rolled onto her side, wincing, and then made it up to a sitting position. “Naed, but I hurt.” Jhessail gasped,
Then, very suddenly, it went from white to a deep, rich blue … and started to fade. The staff was gone, but there was something in its place. A heap—no, two heaps, accompanied by a whiff of pipesmoke. The blue radiance ebbed even more, and two small heaps of gems could be seen sitting side by side on the altar, each covered with a leather pouch from which protruded a neat quartet of cylindrical metal vials. “Healing potions?” Torm breathed as the last of the glow faded away. “Mayhap,” Rathan
and could caress and kiss very skillfully when she wanted to. In mere moments he was groaning under her tongue and embracing her fiercely. Jhessail rolled her eyes skyward. “And of course there’s always that way to solve every little dispute, too. Not being a jack, I haven’t what fills a codpiece to be led around by, but it seems to work for them. Every time.” “Lead me around by my codpiece, lass?” Doust asked her hopefully, waving a hand. “ ’Tis just down here!” Islif decided it was her turn