By Helen Lowe
If evening falls, all fall . . . within the some distance north of the area of Haarth lies the sour mountain diversity referred to as the Wall of evening. Garrisoned via the 9 homes of the Derai, the Wall is the ultimate bastion among the peoples of Haarth and the Swarm of Dark—which the Derai were battling throughout worlds and time. Malian, inheritor to the home of evening, understands the background of her humans: the never-ending battle with the Darkswarm; the mythical heroes, blazing with long-lost strength; the interior strife that has fractured the Derai's former energy. yet now the Darkswarm is emerging back, and Malian's future as inheritor of evening is sure inextricably to either historical legend and any destiny the Derai—or Haarth—may have.
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Additional resources for The Heir of Night: The Wall of Night Book One
Example text
But now there was only emptiness and decay. She walked the length of the hall and stepped onto the shallow dais. Most of the tapestry on the rear wall had decayed into shreds or been eaten by moths, but part of the central panel was still intact. The background was darkness, rimmed with fire, but the foreground was occupied by a figure in hacked and riven armor, confronting a creature that was as vast as the tapestry itself. Its flat, serpentine head loomed out of the surrounding darkness, exuding menace, and its bulk was doom.
Belan, the oldest of the priests, had known all the stories of the priestess Errianthar and her twin, Telemanthar, and how they had beaten back the Swarm of Dark. Telemanthar, the old priest would mumble, had carried a hero's sword, but Errianthar had called the Golden Fire with her mind and hurled it against the onslaught of the Swarm. Belan could recite the Saga of Yorindesarinen, too, despite his faded voice, and would whisper that Kerem the Dark Handed, Kerem of the subtle mind, had also wielded the old powers as well as a sword.
She summoned the courage to put her head around the postern for love of you, but even a lifetime's devotion wouldn't take her any further. " she inquired, with a smile as sly as his. " He closed the postern behind them, locking it with a small, definite click. "You are quite right. Even the thought is an abhorrence. The ghosts of the past are one thing, but to scramble through the rafters like an Ishnapuri monkey, quite another. " Malian laughed aloud, but sobered as they turned into the golden blaze of the New Keep.