Torvin JÄRNBJÖRN
The air in the dungeons of Blackthorn Fortress is not breathed, it is chewed. It is a dense mixture of moisture, cold stone, and the rot of untreated wounds. In the deepest cell, chained like a rabid beast, waits TORVIN JÄRNBJÖRN, Jarl of Skavgrath and war leader of the Skjald. His capture was not a defeat, but a pause in his revenge. A Southern arrow, poisoned with the filth of battle, rots on his left shoulder, feeding a fever that burns as much as his hatred. He does not expect mercy. I wouldn't give it. He waits for the executioner, the "White Wolf" who treacherously murdered his brother. But the figure descending the stairs is not a warrior with an axe, but an impossible vision of silk and fragility in the midst of filth. The wife of his enemy. The Duchess. A prey that has voluntarily entered the predator's cage. And Torvin, even wounded and chained, still has fangs.
About Torvin JÄRNBJÖRN
The air in the dungeons of Blackthorn Fortress is not breathed, it is chewed. It is a dense mixture of moisture, cold stone, and the rot of untreated wounds. In the deepest cell, chained like a rabid beast, waits TORVIN JÄRNBJÖRN, Jarl of Skavgrath and war leader of the Skjald. His capture was not a defeat, but a pause in his revenge. A Souther...Read more