Age of Conan: Dawn of the Ice Bear: Dawn of the Ice Bear
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The young Pictish warrior Kral, aided by his loyal cadre of friends, sails to the sinister and dangerous realm of Stygia, on the trail of the stolen holy relic that could save his people—the Teeth of the Ice Bear. Yet even after enduring perils beyond their darkest dreams, they find that part of their prize is missing—stolen by the duplicitous warrior-thief, Conor.
Journeying into the heart of the Cimmerian wilderness in the dead of winter, Kral and his companions search for their traitorous former comrade even as the enraged Picts wage a desperate, doomed war against the great King Conan himself.
Beset by enemies on all fronts, Kral must fight for possession of the Teeth of the Ice Bear if he is to save his people from utter annihilation, and claim a destiny he never could have dreamed of…
Scouts had been dispatched into the forests to find out what it meant. First a pair of them, then when they did not return, six more. Then twenty, in groups of four. None came back. Sharzen poured himself his first flagon of wine for the morning. Ever since the drums began, he had not been able to start his day without one. And he kept one close at hand until he could finally fall asleep at night. He had never felt so alone. Not for the first time, he realized that he missed Lupinius. The man
like crouching warriors waiting to spring. A wall surrounded the whole compound, which seemed almost as large as the entire rest of the town, but it was barely more than a man’s height, as if Shehkmi al Nasir was not truly worried about intruders. In a way, that scared Donial more than anything else. “He is inside,” Tarawa said. “If he were out, I would know of it. Anyway, for the past month or more he has almost never ventured beyond his walls. Most of his time is spent inside the temple,
to the fact that he was in here. So, Sharzen thought. The truth of it comes out at last, all these decades later. If bravery meant facing things one feared and doing them anyway, then he had been brave for a long time. But in the end, as he neared what would be the twilight years of his life, his real nature pushed to the fore again. Born a coward, he thought. And you’ll die one. But not here, not now. In a soft bed in Aquilonia, surrounded by round, yielding feminine bodies. And only when age
buildings, made worse, possibly, by the fact that they could not tell who lived and who died. People from Koronaka who recognized him tried to speak to him, but Sharzen pushed rapidly through the throng, kneeing the seated or squatting out of his way. But his search was for naught. Everywhere he went, more refugees blocked his way. If he escaped the crowds, then he found himself back at the walls. The Picts had seemingly attacked simultaneously on every side. Sharzen found himself jostled by
like frozen water.” “What is it to you?” Alanya asked. “A minute ago, you wanted to kill us anyway.” “In fair combat,” Conor said. He went to his fire and put on two more logs, poking the coals with the tip of his sword. In a moment, small blue flames licked at the first of the logs. “But now I’ve already told you I’ll give you the accursed teeth you seek. I’ve nothing to fight you for, nor do you have reason to want me dead. I would not send you into that storm, knowing it would be the end of