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...Here is a sneak peek from book 3...

You shall travel to the lands of the Ice King…

You shall travel to the lands of the Ice King…

You shall travel to the lands of the Ice King…

You shall travel to the lands of the Ice King!

Mosley stirred wildly in slumber on the cold floor of his prison cell made of ice. The Wisp of Song’s melody screamed the same thing over and over, mocking him and progressively getting louder as his muscles thrashed, reacting to the nightmare.

The last five nights had been nothing short of heinous. He had been maliciously beaten, tortured, and tirelessly questioned on so many occasions for an answer he would not reveal.

The Ice King’s frozen warrior, relentless, his chilly form perfectly shaped as any man’s, continuously harassed Mosley, probing for the secret the Isorian King swore had to be hidden inside the wolf’s mind.

The Frigid Commander screamed. “Get up Wolf! You can sleep once you have given me the location of the Tear. There will be plenty of moments for your eyes to remain closed once your soul has ascended to the Gods. I give you my word... I will personally see to it that you receive a quick death once the Tear rests safely in my possession!”

Mosley struggled to lift his head from the dingy-colored ice floor of his cell. Drool hung from the end of his matted, fur covered snout, forming ice cycles as his breath billowed in front of his dark eyes. Slowly his vision cleared as he found the commander’s form. The warrior’s armor, made of magically crafted ice, left quite the impression.

What was left of Mosley's strength failed and his head once again found the floor, making a shallow thumping sound as it did. The wolf knew what was coming next, and with a weakened voice responded while fighting for control over his clattering teeth. “I… I…” he sighed. “I’ve already told you I don’t know where the Tear of Gramal is located. I've been trying to find it myself. I cannot tell you something I don’t know. Allow me to speak with Clandestiny and I’m sure this...”

The icy commander’s frigid boots stomped on the floor beside Mosley’s head. He reached down, grabbed a frosty handful of hair on the back of the wolf’s neck and jerked. He responded while holding all of Mosley’s weight with his arm stretched horizontally to the floor, as if the weight of Mosley’s body had no weight to it at all.
 
“Why would the Queen wish to speak with a mutt? No one else in the kingdom knows of the Tear’s disappearance, but yet, you show up asking questions about its importance and want to know of its secrets. You have knowledge, wolf, and I plan to beat it from you!”

Mosley searched his soul for strength and, somehow, managed to growl defiantly. “What I know… only your Queen will hear. I won’t talk with you about it!”

The icy blue fist of the commander’s free hand balled up. “We shall see, mutt… we shall see!” Mosley’s howls filled the depths of the icy dungeon as the clubbing began.