The Krosann Saga

The crow hissed: "Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut your throat here and now. One single damn reason." The prince froze with fear and said nothing. At last, his behavior was logical. His facial features had lost any order. Shivering, he closed his eyes in expectation of certain death. But then there was a whispering. "Could there be three reasons maybe?" She suppressed the reflex to laugh—she hadn’t laughed aloud for years and was not sure if the muscles needed were even still functioning.

She is abandoned by all evil spirits. Instead of cutting the prince's throat, she simply let him go. Now she is supposed to bend the knee before King Tedore in the throne room. Not with her. Never. Better to kill standing than to live kneeling. The swordmaster is in the late autumn of his life, far from home, fleeing from his guilt. A deceased son, a lost daughter, a forfeited title. What remains is to sit on the beach and count the waves. Then the old swordmaster rises and sets out on his last great journey.

Five milksops sticking to her heels like horse manure. On a ship with a captain who cannot be trusted. On a voyage into the heart of enemy territory, teeming with cutthroats. In search of a lost legend that could vanish into thin air like a camel f--t. Time is crying out for change. A mysterious parchment finally leads Karek and his companions to their destination. But what they find there knows no laws, no faith, no mercy.