The Skull Throne: Book Four of The Demon Cycle (The Demon Cycle Series 4), by Peter V. Brett
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The Skull Throne: Book Four of The Demon Cycle (The Demon Cycle Series 4), by Peter V. Brett
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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY BUZZFEED • The first three novels in Peter V. Brett’s groundbreaking Demon Cycle series—The Warded Man, The Desert Spear, and The Daylight War—set a new standard for heroic fantasy. The powerful saga of humans winnowed to the brink of extinction by night-stalking demons, and the survivors who fight back, has kept readers breathless as they eagerly turned the pages. Now the thrilling fourth volume, The Skull Throne, raises the stakes as it carries the action in shocking new directions. The Skull Throne of Krasia stands empty. Built from the skulls of fallen generals and demon princes, it is a seat of honor and ancient, powerful magic, keeping the demon corelings at bay. From atop the throne, Ahmann Jardir was meant to conquer the known world, forging its isolated peoples into a unified army to rise up and end the demon war once and for all. But Arlen Bales, the Warded Man, stood against this course, challenging Jardir to a duel he could not in honor refuse. Rather than risk defeat, Arlen cast them both from a precipice, leaving the world without a savior, and opening a struggle for succession that threatens to tear the Free Cities of Thesa apart. In the south, Inevera, Jardir’s first wife, must find a way to keep their sons from killing one another and plunging their people into civil war as they strive for glory enough to make a claim on the throne. In the north, Leesha Paper and Rojer Inn struggle to forge an alliance between the duchies of Angiers and Miln against the Krasians before it is too late. Caught in the crossfire is the duchy of Lakton—rich and unprotected, ripe for conquest. All the while, the corelings have been growing stronger, and without Arlen and Jardir there may be none strong enough to stop them. Only Renna Bales may know more about the fate of the missing men, but she, too, has disappeared. . . . Praise for Peter V. Brett’s novels of The Demon Cycle The Warded Man “There is much to admire in Peter Brett’s writing, and his concept is brilliant. There’s action and suspense all the way.”—Terry Brooks “[A] fast-paced and thoroughly enjoyable dark fantasy.”—The Miami Herald The Desert Spear “Inspired, compelling, and totally addictive: the most significant and cinematic fantasy epic since The Lord of the Rings.”—Paul W. S. Anderson, director of Resident Evil: Afterlife “Fans of epic fantasy in the tradition of Robert Jordan and George R. R. Martin will enjoy the arrival of a strong voice in multivolume epic fantasy.”—Library Journal The Daylight War “Highly entertaining, fast-paced, and action-packed.”—SF Site “[Brett is] at the top of his game.”—Tor.comThe Skull Throne “Heart-thumping, adrenaline-pumping . . . The crescendo is near perfect.”—Book Frivolity “As soon as we dive into The Skull Throne, it quickly becomes obvious that Brett knows exactly what he’s doing. . . . Brett is setting up his world and the characters in order to tell his epic fantasy tale in a way that is both personal and global. It’s a page-turner, and quite possibly the best so far.”—Starburst MagazineFrom the Hardcover edition.
The Skull Throne: Book Four of The Demon Cycle (The Demon Cycle Series 4), by Peter V. Brett- Amazon Sales Rank: #9247 in eBooks
- Published on: 2015-03-31
- Released on: 2015-03-31
- Format: Kindle eBook
Review Praise for Peter V. Brett’s novels of The Demon Cycle The Warded Man “There is much to admire in Peter Brett’s writing, and his concept is brilliant. There’s action and suspense all the way.”—Terry Brooks “[A] fast-paced and thoroughly enjoyable dark fantasy.”—The Miami Herald The Desert Spear “Inspired, compelling, and totally addictive: the most significant and cinematic fantasy epic since The Lord of the Rings.”—Paul W. S. Anderson, director of Resident Evil: Afterlife “Fans of epic fantasy in the tradition of Robert Jordan and George R. R. Martin will enjoy the arrival of a strong voice in multivolume epic fantasy.”—Library Journal The Daylight War “Highly entertaining, fast-paced, and action-packed.”—SF Site “[Brett is] at the top of his game.”—Tor.comThe Skull Throne “Heart-thumping, adrenaline-pumping . . . The crescendo is near perfect.”—Book Frivolity “As soon as we dive into The Skull Throne, it quickly becomes obvious that Brett knows exactly what he’s doing. . . . Brett is setting up his world and the characters in order to tell his epic fantasy tale in a way that is both personal and global. It’s a page-turner, and quite possibly the best so far.”—Starburst Magazine
About the Author Peter V. Brett is the internationally bestselling author of The Warded Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War, and The Skull Throne. Raised on a steady diet of fantasy novels, comic books, and Dungeons & Dragons, Brett has been writing fantasy stories for as long as he can remember. He received a bachelor of arts degree in English literature and art history from the University at Buffalo in 1995, then spent more than a decade in pharmaceutical publishing before returning to his bliss. He lives in New York.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter 1 The Hunt 333 AR Autumn Jardir woke at sunset, his mind thick with fog. He was lying in a Northern bed—one giant pillow instead of many. The bedcloth was rough, nothing like the silk to which he had become accustomed. The room was circular, with warded glass windows all around. A tower of some sort. Untamed land spread into the twilight, but he recognized none of it. Where in Ala am I? Pain lanced through him as he stirred, but pain was an old companion, embraced and forgotten. He pulled himself into a sitting position, rigid legs scraping against each other. He pulled the blanket aside. Plaster casts running thigh-to-foot. His toes, swollen in red, purple, and yellow, peeked from the far ends, close, yet utterly out of reach. He flexed them experimentally, ignoring the pain, and was satisfied with the slight twitch that rewarded him. It harkened back to the broken arm he’d suffered as a child, and the helplessness of his weeks of healing. He reached immediately to the nightstand for the crown. Even in day, there was magic enough stored within to heal a few broken bones, especially ones already set. His hands met empty air. Jardir turned and stared a long moment before the situation registered. It had been years since he had let himself be out of arm’s reach of his crown and spear, but both were missing. Memories came back to him in a rush. The fight atop the mountain with the Par’chin. How the son of Jeph had collapsed into smoke as Jardir struck, only to solidify an instant later, grabbing the spear shaft with inhuman strength and twisting it from his grasp. And then the Par’chin turned and threw it from the cliff as if it were nothing more than a gnawed melon rind. Jardir licked cracked lips. His mouth was dry and his bladder full, but both needs had been provided for. The water at his bedside was sweet, and with some effort he managed use of the chamber pot his searching fingers found on the floor just underneath the bed. His chest was bound tightly, ribs grinding as he shifted. Over the bandages he was clad in a thin robe—tan, he noted. The Par’chin’s idea of a joke, perhaps. There was no door, simply a stair leading up into the room—as good as prison bars in his current state. There were no other exits, nor did the steps continue on. He was at the top of the tower. The room was sparsely furnished. A small table by the bedside. A single chair. There was a sound in the stairwell. Jardir froze, listening. He might be bereft of his crown and spear, but years of absorbing magic through them had remade his body as close to Everam’s image as a mortal form could be. He had the eyes of a hawk, the nose of a wolf, and the ears of a bat. “Sure you can handle him?” the Par’chin’s First Wife said. “Thought he was going to kill you out on that cliff.” “No worries, Ren,” the Par’chin said. “He can’t hurt me without the spear.” “Can in daylight,” Renna said. “Not with two broken legs,” the Par’chin said. “Got this, Ren. Honest word.” We shall see, Par’chin. There was a smacking of lips as the son of Jeph kissed his jiwah’s remaining protests away. “Need you back in the Hollow keepin’ an eye on things. Now, ’fore they get suspicious.” “Leesha Paper’s already suspicious,” Renna said. “Her guesses ent far from the mark.” “Don’t matter, long as they stay guesses,” the Par’chin said. “You just keep playin’ dim, no matter what she says or does.” Renna gave a stunted laugh. “Ay, that won’t be a problem. Like makin’ her want to spit.” “Don’t waste too much time on it,” the Par’chin said. “Need you to protect the Hollow, but keep a low profile. Strengthen the folk, but let them carry the weight. I’ll skate in when I can, but only to see you. No one else can know I’m alive.” “Don’t like it,” Renna said. “Man and wife shouldn’t be apart like this.” The Par’chin sighed. “Ent nothin’ for it, Ren. Bettin’ the farm on this throw. Can’t afford to lose. I’ll see you soon enough.” “Ay,” Renna said. “Love you, Arlen Bales.” “Love you, Renna Bales,” the Par’chin said. They kissed again, and Jardir heard rapid footsteps as she descended the tower. The Par’chin, however, began to climb. For a moment Jardir thought to feign sleep. Perhaps he might learn something; gain the element of surprise. He shook his head. I am Shar’Dama Ka. It is beneath me to hide. I will meet the Par’chin’s eyes and see what remains of the man I knew. He propped himself up, embracing the roar of pain in his legs. His face was serene as the Par’chin entered. He wore plain clothes, much as he had when they first met, a cotton shirt of faded white and worn denim trousers with a leather Messenger satchel slung over one shoulder. His feet were bare, pant and shirt cuffs rolled to show the wards he had inked into his skin. His sand-colored hair was shaved away, and the face Jardir remembered was barely recognizable under all the markings. Even without his crown, Jardir could sense the power of those symbols, but the strength came with a heavy price. The Par’chin looked more like a page from one of the holy scrolls of warding than a man. “What have you done to yourself, old friend?” He had not meant to speak the words aloud, but something pushed him. “Got a lot of nerve callin’ me that, after what you did,” the Par’chin said. “Din’t do this to myself. You did this to me.” “I?” Jardir asked. “I took ink and profaned your body with it?” The Par’chin shook his head. “You left me to die in the desert, without weapon or succor, and knew I’d be corespawned before I let the alagai have me. My body was the only thing you left me to ward.” With those words, all Jardir’s questions about how the Par’chin had survived were answered. In his mind’s eye he saw his friend alone in the desert, parched and bloodied as he beat alagai to death with his bare hands. It was glorious. The Evejah forbade the tattooing of flesh, but it forbade many things Jardir had since permitted for the sake of Sharak Ka. He wanted to condemn the Par’chin, but his throat tightened at the truth of the man’s words. Jardir shivered as a chill of doubt touched his center. No thing happened, but that Everam willed it. It was inevera that the Par’chin should live to meet him again. The dice said each of them might be the Deliverer. Jardir had dedicated his life to being worthy of that title. He was proud of his accomplishments, but could not deny that his ajin’pal, the brave outsider, might have greater honor in Everam’s eyes. “You play at rituals you do not understand, Par’chin,” he said. “Domin Sharum is to the death, and victory was yours. Why did you not take it and claim your place at the lead of the First War?” The Par’chin sighed. “There’s no victory in your death, Ahmann.” “Then you admit I am the Deliverer?” Jardir asked. “If that is so, then return my spear and crown to me, put your head to the floor, and have done. All will be forgiven, and we can face Nie side by side once more.” The Par’chin snorted. He set his satchel on the table, reaching inside. The Crown of Kaji gleamed even in the growing darkness, its nine gems glittering. Jardir could not deny the desire the item stirred in him. If he’d had legs to stand, he would have leapt for it. “Crown’s right here.” The Par’chin spun the pointed circlet on a finger like a child’s hoop toy. “But the spear ent yours. Least, not ’less I decide to give it to you. Hidden where you can never get it, even if your legs wern’t casted.” “The holy items belong together,” Jardir said. The Par’chin sighed again. “Nothing’s holy, Ahmann. Told you once before Heaven was a lie. You threatened to kill me over the words, but that doesn’t make ’em any less true.” Jardir opened his mouth to reply, angry words forming on his lips, but the Par’chin cut him off, catching the spinning crown in a firm grip and holding it up. As he did, the wards on his skin throbbed briefly with light, and those on the crown began to glow. “This,” the Par’chin said of the crown, “is a thin band of mind demon skull and nine horns, coated in a warded alloy of silver and gold, focused by gemstones. It is a masterwork of wardcraft, but nothing more.” He smiled. “Much as your earring was.” Jardir started, raising his hand to touch the bare lobe his wedding ring had once pierced. “Do you mean to steal my First Wife, as well as my throne?” The Par’chin laughed, a genuine sound Jardir had not heard in years. A sound he could not deny he had missed. “Not sure which would be the greater burden,” the Par’chin said. “I want neither. I have a wife, and among my people one is more’n enough.” Jardir felt a smile tug at his lips, and he let it show. “A worthy Jiwah Ka is both support and burden, Par’chin. They challenge us to be better men, and that is ever a struggle.” The Par’chin nodded. “Honest word.” “Then why have you stolen my ring?” Jardir demanded. “Just holding on to it while you’re under my roof,” the Par’chin said. “Can’t have you calling for help.” “Eh?” Jardir said. The Par’chin tilted his head at him, and Jardir could feel the son of Jeph’s gaze reaching into his soul, much as Jardir did when he had the gift of crownsight. How did the Par’chin do it without the crown at his brow? “You don’t know,” the Par’chin said after a moment. He barked a laugh. “Giving me marriage advice while your own wife spies on you!” The derision in his tone angered Jardir, and his brows drew tight despite his desire to keep his face calm. “What is that supposed to mean?” The Par’chin reached into his pocket, producing the earring. It was a simple hoop of gold with a delicate warded ball hanging from it. “There’s a broken piece of demon bone in here, with its opposite half in your wife’s ear. Lets her hear everything you do.” Suddenly so many mysteries became clear to Jardir. How his wife seemed to know his every plan and secret. Much of her information came from the dice, but the alagai hora spoke in riddles as oft as not. He should have known cunning Inevera would not rely on her castings alone. “So she knows you’ve kidnapped me?” Jardir asked. The Par’chin shook his head. “Blocked its power. She won’t be able to find you before we’re finished here.” Jardir crossed his arms. “Finished with what? You will not follow me, and I will not follow you. We stand at the same impasse we found five years ago in the Maze.” The Par’chin nodded. “You couldn’t bring yourself to kill me then, and it forced me to change how I see the world. Offering you the same.” With that, he tossed the crown across the room. Instinctively, Jardir caught it. “Why return it to me? Won’t this heal my wounds? You may have difficulty holding me without them.” The Par’chin shrugged. “Don’t think you’ll leave without the spear, but I’ve drained the crown in any event. Not a lot of magic venting from the Core makes it this high,” he waved his hand at the windows circling the room on all sides, “and the sun cleans out this room each morning. It’ll give you crownsight, but not much else until it’s recharged.” “So why return it to me?” Jardir asked again. “Thought we might have a talk,” the Par’chin said. “And I want you to see my aura while we do. Want you to see the truth of my words, the strength of my convictions, written on my very soul. Perhaps then, you’ll come to see.” “Come to see what?” Jardir asked. “That Heaven is a lie? Nothing written on your soul can do that, Par’chin.” Nevertheless, he slipped the crown onto his head. Immediately the darkened room came alive with crownsight, and Jardir breathed deep in relief, like the blind man in the Evejah, given his sight back by Kaji. Through the windows, land that had been nothing but shadows and vague shapes a moment ago became sharply defined, lit with the magic that vented from Ala. All living things held a spark of power at their core, and Jardir could see strength glowing in the trunks of trees, the moss that clung to them, and every animal that lived within their branches and bark. It ran through the grasses of the plains and, most of all, in the demons that stalked the land and rode the winds. The alagai shone like beacons, waking a primal desire in him to hunt and kill. As the Par’chin had warned, his cell was dimmer. Small tendrils of power drifted up the tower walls, Drawn to the wards etched into the glass windows. They flickered to life, a shield against the alagai. But though the room was dim, the Par’chin shone brighter than a demon. So bright it should be difficult to look at him. But it was not. Quite the contrary, the magic was glorious to behold, rich and tempting. Jardir reached out through the crown, attempting to Draw a touch of it to himself. Not so much the Par’chin might sense the drain, but perhaps enough to speed his healing. A wisp of power snaked through the air toward him like incense smoke. The Par’chin had shaved his brows, but the wards above his left eye lifted in an unmistakable expression. His aura shifted, showing more bemusement than offense. “Ah-ah. Get your own.” Abruptly, the magic reversed its flow and was Drawn back into him. Jardir kept his face calm, though he doubted it made a difference. The Par’chin was right. He could read the man’s aura, seeing his every feeling, and had no doubt his old friend could do the same. The Par’chin was calm, centered, and meant Jardir no harm. There was no deception in him. Only weariness, and fear Jardir would be too rigid to give his words fair consideration. “Tell me again why I am here, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “If your goal is truly as you have always said, to rid the world of alagai, then why do you oppose me? I am close to fulfilling your dream.” “Not as close as you think,” the Par’chin said. “And the way you’re doing it disgusts me. You choke and threaten humanity to its own salvation, not caring the cost. Know you Krasians like to dress in black and white, but the world ent so simple. There’s color, and more than a fair share of gray.” “I am not a fool, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “Sometimes I wonder,” the Par’chin said, and his aura agreed. It was a bitter tea that his old friend, whom he had taught so much and always respected, should think so little of him.
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168 of 187 people found the following review helpful. A tad better than the last book. Just a tad.... By J. Hamby There is a saying "familiarity breeds contempt". Here is might be said "the familiar becomes contemptible". Strong words. And not meant as a scathing indictment of book four in Brett's series. It seems rare anymore that series, even those trying to deliver the once ubiquitous trilogy, in the fantasy genre manage to avoid a slump of sorts. But it does happen. Sadly with Brett, for me, it doesn't.One thing I notice is the more a book does not work for me, the more I notice things that irk, irritate and even annoy the heck out of me. But some history first.Loved the first book. It was clumsy at times, over affected (the folksy bumpkin twang -- we''ll come back to that). There was a simplistic aspect that might have turned readers off, but in the moment it worked to its advantage. Brett was telling a story and didn't let too much get in his way. Book two was more of the same. But it also established a theme that I now find irritating. It had to tell a character's back story at the expense of forward movement. It was not so bad since this was the first "lather, rinse. repeat" aspect. It helped broaden the world (even though done in duplicate it still managed to round the ongoing story out). But then came the third book. And it was again "lather rinse repeat". Only with even more focus on Brett's worldbuilding. In particular the Krasnians. Overly derivative and way too much of an indulgent exercise by the author, the worldbuilding, something I usually strongly need in fantasy, became obstructive.So now we lather rinse and repeat. Again. Little happens in this book in my opinion. We get some action, but it smacks of the same action as before. We get more backstory that really is totally irrelevant. Back story that is also repetitive. Do any of his characters not have some kind of dysfunctional childhood that they end up struggling and by moxy and grit work past and master whatever system they have been plunked down into? It is a familiar trope. It made millions with Harry Potter. Robert Jordan was able to use it with more nuance and variety to great success in his Wheel of Time books as his late teen protagonists worked their way through the world and its various cultures and societies. Heck I remember Anne McCaffrey's ancillary Dragonsinger series set in Harper Hall pretty much defined it for me as a kid. So it's not a crime to use it. It is a crime to use it over and over again for every point of view character it seems.Another aspect I have little not patience left is getting back to Brett's own Krasnian Fetish. He loves him some made up words. And then building on those words. Over and over again. Many a passage is rare in this and the last book that lacks at least one made up word. Hey, I cut my science fiction teeth on the early works of CJ Cherryh I snuck from my grandfather's shelves of old pulp paperbacks. I have no problem with weird words with lots of apostrophes. In fact when used right they add an exoticism and sense of wonder to the world. Here, sadly, they have become an obstruction to simply telling a good story that actually moves faster than a glacier (before climate change that is). Instead I find too many sentences with more than one term that at the end of the day does not add to the story for me. It is like reading "blah blah blah *gobblelygook made up word* blah blah *gobblelygook made up word*. Over and over again. Brett loves him some made up words.I know this sounds overly snide, but 700 pages of treading water, murky, used water after 600 or so last book and I feel cheated. Brett can write. I _know_ he can. I've read it. Perhaps instead of using huge door stopping novels that achieve way too little in progression he should do backstories with longer page length and detail to his ancillary novellas. I would much rather find out about Ashia on my own as it were. Even pay extra. Then have to read through it (and others) at the expense of having a story with momentum and drive. There is no suspense -- characters spend a lot of time nattering to each other with little action. And the true forward moving action is reduced to a handful of passages in my eyes.I think one aspect that also bothers is Brett wallows in these worldbuilding details that in many ways, for me, are not only tedious and simply there to stretch out the story instead of resolving it, is also that as it gets more and "complex" in terms of cultural and societal mumbo jumbo, the less invested I feel in _this_ world. Gone is a gripping and entertaining battle for survival. Instead Brett slathers on trope after trope that seems at odd with the simple fact humanity fights a daily battle to simply survive. We get the rowdy crass and crude but overall good hearted tough working class bumpkins. We get the prissy delusional out of touch luxury wallowing "noble class". And we get the Krasnians. Ultimate fighters blinkered by overly derivative Middle Eastern cultural tropes that get more and more ridiculous, I mean layered, as the series goes on.As Brett writes himself into corners by giving his leads growing powers and abilities and knowledge and then introduces new threats even greater than the past or simply forces his characters into a series of stupid mindless decisions just so the danger can remain, I find the overall idea of humanity struggling to stop just surviving and instead attempting to gain the upper hand and ultimate victory implausible.And I think most of this simply has to do with the fact that at the end of the day, the series is losing ground in "working for me". I feel I am putting more into it than I am getting out. Hence, the contempt. I could stop, but I believe the next is the last. and that means something more than this and the previous book have accomplished has to take place. Right? Right?I'm glad other fans are finding this as fun as I found the first book. But I think this series has lost focus and refuses to address the very story it set out to tell in book one way too often. This is seven hundred pages of Brett-filled terminology and a still expanding Krasnian fantasy anthropology exercise. If you loved the first one but felt since then it has gotten off course? I have some bad news. If you adored the last one? This is slightly better. So you will be rolling on the floor in ecstasy once you get this I suspect.
88 of 103 people found the following review helpful. FILLER... for the most part. By P. M. Alvarado Bottom line up front, the Skull Throne was hugely disappointing. At the time of this review there are 45 reviews and of those there are 16 Vine Customer Review of FREE Product (VCRFP). I would subtract the 10 "5 star" and the 6 "4 star" VCRFP from the overall equation because they are ALL 5 or 4 star reviews... and lets be honest with each other, a free product is an awesome product. I am sure they are supposed to be unbiased and all that but I find it hard to believe that all 16 would give this book 5 or 4 stars. Subtract them and you will get a grand total of "7" 5 star reviews and "5" 4 stars from those of us that had to shell out money for this huge let down of a "Demon Cycle" of a book. I am probably slow to the game but I am starting to believe that the VCRFPs are meant to bloat the overall positive reviews of a book in order to convince customers to buy it.OK, sorry about that. I need to vent but on to my review, which will sound a lot like other negative reviews:Mr. Brett left us with a cliffhanger in The Daylight War and rewarded us with an unnecessarily bloated book that feels like he is trying to milk the series. If you are a fan of Leesha then have no fears because she takes up the lion's share in this book. If you are a fan of Arlen, or even Jardir, as I am, then prepare yourself to get heartbroken because they might take up maybe only 100 pages of the book and that's probably being really really generous (I didnt take the time to count). For my part, I dont care about treacherous Krasian backwards politics and I care less about Leesha's scandalous pregnancy or her politicking in the Hollows or in Angiers. I dont care about the controversial polygamist Rojer that much either. I like them greatly as supporting cast but not characters I want to follow through the majority of the story line, which they do and by that I mean 3/4 of the book. There's certain flashbacks of randomly new characters (Mr. Brett seems to be a big fan of flashbacks) that to me felt like an overwhelming waste of time. At the end Mr. Brett does throw some curve balls at you and some will remind you of something George R.R. Martin would do in his books, but that all literally happens in the last 5th of the book. Those were the best part and they felt frustratingly rushed. I mean, some big time stuff goes down and the characters we are left with almost keep going on without a beat. Yet you have to deal with endless dithering about Leesha's pregnancy, confused love affairs, Rojer's stupid and costly fears, and strange Krasian customs? If you are a fan like me and has most of your vested interest in Arlen or Jardir then this book will be frustrating for you as you read page after page waiting for them to pop up.... because they wont. At this point. I just want the series to end so I can get some closure because if the next book is anything like the Skull Throne then I probably will stop caring.
26 of 29 people found the following review helpful. Not impressed By Joseph Where to begin... Having just gotten out of school I was finally able to pick up a copy since I was done with projects and studying for finals. This past month was agony since the book was released at the end of March, but I knew I just had to wait patiently so I could tear into this bad boy. Boy was I wrong. The Demon Cycle has slowly been losing ground since The Warded Man. The first book was good, I didn't mind the regurgitated exposition in the second, and by the third, when we were getting, yet again, the same info from a different character, I about had it.Coming into the fourth book, I thought "There's no way he does it again, right? What other character is there?". But we get some of the same needless backstory into an already fleshed out culture. Sure reading about Ashia was interesting, but what does she bring to the story? Just another female character that doesn't advance the plot AT ALL. It seems Peat may be falling into GRRM's trap of just creating new characters and forgetting the ones that matter.It seems as if hardly any time at all has passed over the last 3 books. From the end of The Warded Man to the end of The Skull Throne I doubt much time has passed. Maybe 2 years? If that. Too lazy to go through and look at the year timestamps on the chapters. This book had maybe 100-200 pages of material that advanced the plot. The rest was just a bunch of political deadlock with characters you don't care much about. Jardir and Arlen? The two who should be having the most page time. Yeah they're in this book for about 100 pages and do ONE thing. After that you don't hear from them and find out they've been hanging out in a tower for half a year. Sure the book ends in an interesting spot as far as the Krasian's and greenlanders are concerned. But all of that could have been accomplished far sooner and we wouldn't have needed to hear the endless backstory of new characters, or see Inevera politicking.Leesha grew ever more annoying since the second book and I can't stand her even more. Half the book she's spent crying about how she's deceived Thamos about her baby. The other half she does absolutely nothing while she's trapped in politics at Angiers. Rojer's character makes leaps and bounds with Amanvah and Sikvah, but Peat throws a potential cliffhanger there. It's just too much. Shotty storytelling that is all to reminiscent of trudging through AFFC.Peat also begins to pull things out of his ass as far as magic goes. Wards for this, wards for that. New ways to use demon bone to satisfy your every need. At one point in the book, it's stated that someone uses a magnetic ward to draw a knife to their hand from the ground. A magnetic ward?! What use is that other than to make for a cool fight. Wards are meant to repel demons, not give you telekinetic powers, but Peat starts to invent them at will to solve all his troubles. Deus ex machina much. Inevera has discovered how to use hora to practically do whatever she pleases. It's too much. Things that took Arlen years to figure out, coupled with things he learned from entering the minds of the mind demons, are being discovered in no time at all from characters such as Leesha, Inevera, and Abban. I could go on, but you get my point. This is a low point for the series, lower even than the Daylight War, and I'm not sure if I'll be buying the last installment. If anything, it'll just to get the satisfaction of knowing how things end. Can't possibly be worse than book four.Avoid this is possible and turn away from the series, but if you're like me, you'll buy it anyways because at this point, you've read 3 books and are already invested. Might as well just suck it up and finish. It wouldn't be the first promising series to take a wrong turn.
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