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Three strangers chosen by the gods. A castle-servant who can bend fire and light to his will. A musician whose song can soothe even the wildest of hearts. And a nobleman with the gods' own luck. Three strangers gifted with powers beyond that of normal mortals stand against the armies of shadow. But there are other gods, other powers lurking in the darkness, and they, too, will find their champions. Hunted by mortal and immortal enemies alike, Alesh and his companions flee south to the Ferinan lands.

Aaron and his companions have been saved from Kevlane's creatures only to find themselves in the power of the Akalians, a shadowy group of warriors many believe aren't men at all, but creatures of nightmare bent on blood and death. But not all the shadows' secrets are evil ones, and allies are often found in the unlikeliest of places. In Baresh, the tournament has begun, and the ancient mage, Kevlane, adds more twisted creatures to his army, fashioning a force the likes of which the world has never seen.

Aaron and his companions return from Baresh with the truth of what the alliance faces, yet such knowledge is little comfort. Throughout the city, men and women whisper of demons, of monsters. But though they might disagree on the nature of Kevlane's twisted creations, there is one thing they have in common. Fear. For the creatures they face are not men - not any longer. They are death given form and function. They are, it seems in the darkest hours - and there are many such now - Telrear's doom.

Belgarin’s forces have retreated, but in the city of Perennia there is no rejoicing. The wind carries the smell of freshly dug graves and death. As the city grieves, Aaron and his companions attempt to hold together an alliance that threatens to crumble around them. While the alliance’s leaders bicker and argue, Boyce Kevlane, an ancient wizard bent on revenge, has taken Belgarin’s place as king and uses his twisted powers to create an army out of nightmare. Aaron is forced to venture into a city gripped by madness and terror in search of proof of the coming danger.

Aaron and his companions prevented the assassination of a queen, but in doing so, they angered an ancient evil. Angered it, wounded it, but did not kill it, for such evil never truly dies. An army greater than any the world has ever known marches bringing steel and death with it, and somewhere, a 1,000-year-old evil lurks in the darkness, plotting and bending its will toward revenge.

A warrior's path is trodden in pain and death lies at its end. Those were his father's words from long ago. Not just words, in truth, but a warning. Despite this, in the end, Cutter, like so many others, had chosen pain, had chosen death. Maybe he had done so when he lay dying in some back alley of his home city. Maybe it had been when Yeladrian, the Fey King, had gifted him the Breaker of Pacts. Or perhaps he had not chosen his path at all. Perhaps it had chosen him. Either way, there was no choice left to him now. His path lay before him, and so the only thing left to do was to walk it.

The worst thing about a man being led to his execution—aside from the whole impending death bit—was that he immediately tried to figure out what choice had brought him there. Which Dannen thought was ridiculous. The one possible comfort a man could have, when faced with his own death, was that things simply could not get any worse. The problem, of course, was that things could always get worse.

The path to peace is paved in blood. Or so Cutter tells himself during the long nights as he travels deeper into the Black Wood, wrestling with his inner demons and battling those creatures which emerge from the shadows seeking his life.

That was nothing new, for death had been coming for the wanderer for a long time now. But this time, it did not just come for him. It came for Dekker and his family, for Clint and the Perishables, and the villagers of Alhs. Death was coming. And it was he who had called it. The enemy who had taken Ranger’s place hunted them, and at his back marched an army of Revenants, creatures who felt no pain, who knew no fear, and so the wanderer and his companions head deeper into the Untamed Lands in search of safe haven.

He’d faced the monster posing as Soldier in combat, and he had won. But at what cost? Forty-seven villagers of Alhs dead. So many that they could not bury them all and so they had looked to the old ways.