Raymond E Feist Vk May 2026

Pug raised one hand. A faint blue light kindled between his fingers—witchfire, the other soldiers called it. Tomas knew it for what it was: raw magic pulled from the fabric of the world itself.

“Tomas. Look.”

Here’s a piece: The road to Vak’Kesh was little more than a scar across the moor—muddy ruts where supply wagons had labored before the snows came. Tomas pulled his cloak tighter, though the wind found every gap. Frost clung to the wool. raymond e feist vk

Pug looked at his hands. The blue light was gone. So was most of the color in his face. Pug raised one hand

“The King’s road,” the grey figure repeated, savoring each word. “There has been no King here for a thousand years. You are standing in the ruins of Ithrak’s Fall. The ravens are not birds. They are the unburied dead.” “Tomas

“For how long?”

Tomas drew his sword—the hilt warm in his grip. “Who goes there?”