The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time, Book 12) by Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson

By Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson

Tarmon Gai'don, the final conflict, looms. And mankind isn't ready.

The ultimate quantity of the Wheel of Time, A reminiscence of Light, used to be partly written through Robert Jordan ahead of his premature passing in 2007. Brandon Sanderson, New York Times bestselling writer of the Mistborn books, was once selected through Jordan's editor---his spouse, Harriet McDougal---to entire the ultimate publication. The scope and dimension of the quantity used to be such that it could actually now not be contained in one booklet, and so Tor proudly offers The amassing Storm because the first of 3 novels that may make up A reminiscence of Light. This brief series will entire the fight opposed to the Shadow, bringing to an in depth a trip began nearly 20 years in the past and staining the realization of the Wheel of Time, the preeminent fable epic of our era.

In this epic novel, Robert Jordan's foreign bestselling sequence starts its dramatic end. Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn, struggles to unite a fractured community of kingdoms and alliances in instruction for the final conflict. As he makes an attempt to halt the Seanchan encroachment northward---wishing he may shape not less than a brief truce with the invaders---his allies watch in terror the shadow that seems turning out to be in the center of the Dragon Reborn himself.

Egwene al'Vere, the Amyrlin Seat of the insurgent Aes Sedai, is a captive of the White Tower and topic to the whims in their tyrannical chief. As days tick towards the Seanchan assault she is familiar with is approaching, Egwene works to carry jointly the disparate factions of Aes Sedai whereas offering management within the face of accelerating uncertainty and melancholy. Her struggle will turn out the mettle of the Aes Sedai, and her clash will make a decision the way forward for the White Tower---and probably the area itself.

The Wheel of Time turns, and a while come and go. What used to be, what's going to be, and what's, may possibly but fall less than the Shadow.

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He had left the rest house to explore the area by himself, much against a rapidly recovering Nandi’s advice. Nandi was out of danger, but they had to wait for a few days nevertheless, so that the Captain could be strong enough to travel. There was not much Shiva could do at the rest house and he had begun to feel resdess. The three soldiers had tried to shadow Shiva, but he had angrily dismissed them. ’ The rhythmic hymns sung by the gentle waters of the Beas soothed Shiva. A cool tender breeze teased his thick lock of hair.

All the buildings were constructed as standard two storied block structures made of baked bricks. On top were wooden extensions for increasing the height of the building, if required. Nandi clarified to Shiva that the structure of the buildings differed internally depending on their specific requirements. All windows and doors were built strictly on the side walls of buildings, never facing the main road. The blank walls that faced the main roads bore striking black line drawings depicting the different legends of the Suryavanshis, while the background was painted in the sober colours of grey, light blue, light green or white.

But the audience realised that he was oblivious to them. Shiva was in his own world. He did not dance for the audience. He did not dance for appreciation. He did not dance for the music. He danced only for himself. Rather, it almost seemed like his dance was guided by a celestial force. Sati realised that Shiva was right. He had opened himself and the dance had come to him. After what seemed like an eternity the dance came to an end, with Shiva firmly shutting his eyes. He held the final pose for a long time as the glow slowly left him.

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