Sorcery of Thorns

Margaret Rogerson (Author)

NIGHT FELL AS death rode into the Great Library of Summershall. It arrived within a carriage.
Elisabeth stood in the courtyard and watched the horses thunder wild-eyed through the gates, throwing
froth from their mouths. High above, the last of the sunset blazed on the Great Library’s tower windows,
as if the rooms inside had been set on Йre—but the light retreated swiftly, shrinking upward, drawing
long fingers of shadow from the angels and gargoyles who guarded the library’s rain-streaked parapets.