By Clayton Emery
Netheril, empire of magic, the place wizards wield strength a long way past the ken of mortal men.
Netheril, the place citadels glide, magic runs wild, and mages dabble in video games higher left for the gods.
Netheril, a spot of harmful video games the place the barbarian Sunbright Steelshanks quickly unearths himself an unwilling pawn in a deadly fit of wits, wiles, and powers.
Read or Download Dangerous Games (Forgotten Realms: Netheril Trilogy, Book 2) PDF
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Extra info for Dangerous Games (Forgotten Realms: Netheril Trilogy, Book 2)
The cobbler, the smith . . " I nodded, for I knew. "Her husband," I said. "He was the first one chosen here. He would have been the mate. " I led Jacques straight to the dry well, remembering the smell that had come up from it. There I looped a plain hemp rope under my arms, and Jacques lowered me down into the pit. I clung to the rope with one hand, and with the other held a lantern at my side. As I suspected, Roger Faure was at the bottom. At first I thought that he had not suffered the fate of the other victims, for his body seemed full and plump, almost swollen.
Larson thanked him and nodded toward the solitary man. " "Him? " 56 ELAINE CUNNINGHAM This news turned Larson's first sip of meekulbrau into a sputtering cough. " he said, as soon as he could speak. " the barkeep retorted. " He raised a single eyebrow, inviting further inquiry. "I hope you'll share your stories with us," the young man murmured absently. He left his mug on the bar along with a few coins, and hurried over to the bard's table. Larson made his introductions with a deep bow. " He nodded to the empty chair.
As I suspected, Roger Faure was at the bottom. At first I thought that he had not suffered the fate of the other victims, for his body seemed full and plump, almost swollen. But when 1 drew my sword and prodded his body, Gabrielle's children scurried from beneath their dead father's clothing so that he instantly withered into a foul matting of rags, parchment skin, and brittle bones. The repellent nest of spiders, hatched within Roger Faure's pitiful corpse, attacked me then, but the change did not come over me, for it was butcher's work I now did, efficient and yeomanlike, hacking them into bits one at a time as they tried and failed to bite through my heavy boots and scuttle up my legs.
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