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With her murderous daughter, Medea, banished to the spirit world, Queen Thirrin’s tiny kingdom of the Icemark has enjoyed a time of peace.

But her consort, Oskan Witchfather, fears for their nation – and rightly so. Medea is out for revenge. Allied with the King of the Darkness and his terrifying Ice Demons, the power of her evil grows stronger day by day. The dark is rising and the Icemark and its allies must stop it.

The third and final book in the hugely popular Icemark Chronicles. With Stuart Hill's characteristic blend of lively story-telling and wild fantasy, this eagerly awaited and entertaining final part is an equally compelling read.

The gentle crackle of burning logs was the only physical sound that disturbed the peace. Outside the window the cold autumn night sparkled and glittered with stars, and the moon ladled a silver puddle of light across the floor of the darkened room.

            It was the night before Samhein, or Halloween as some of the older country folk still called it, and the veils between the physical and spirit worlds were so thin that Oskan Witchfather could clearly hear the whisper and echo of voices beyond.

            As a warlock and wielder of magic, none of this held any fears for him; he knew he was simply listening to part of the natural – and supernatural – order of the Cosmos. His ear automatically sifted through the various calls and voices of the ether, identifying and categorising each and every phenomenon it encountered: ghost, banshee, Undead, demon, angel.

            He rested his mind for a moment in the peace of the Spirit Realms; its sounds of birdsong, the perfume of flower-scented breezes and the gentle sibilance of falling silver rains marked it as the residence of the Goddess and the place of Heavens such as Valhalla and the Summerlands. He slowly drifted towards sleep, most of his powers veiled in that protective state that kept them safe from the clamour and noise of the living and unliving worlds. But then a sudden gust of wind breathed around the stonework of the window, the rush of air finding a voice in the cracks and crevices and softly wailing with a note of such despair and omen that it shook the Witchfather from his rest. Oskan fully opened his mind again, searching for signs of danger. Immediately his head was filled with the entire tumbling, tangling cacophony of the spiritual and natural worlds, and he listened carefully.

            He soon found what he was looking for. An unmistakeable ‘voice’ calling in the Darkness, and growing stronger day by day. A tone that was deeply evil … and familiar. Medea!

            A time was fast approaching when he’d need to face this new threat, and either destroy it or be destroyed. He sighed and settled back into his seat, trying to recapture the peace that had fled. There was always time enough for confrontation, and he wasn’t ready yet for the struggle that would come. He needed to gather his strength and prepare his powers before he would be ready for battle. And, if he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he was more than a little afraid of what he’d found.