A sweeping epic fantasy weaving both destiny and ancient magic in this masterful final novel in the beloved Five Warrior Angels trilogy from Brian Lee Durfee. In the age of belief, magic is a myth. But when an apocalyptic crusade comes to the remote border of Gul Kana, that belief is shattered as is the tenuous peace that held the Five Isles together. Now, the prophecies that were used to justify this war are unravelling revealing a hidden agenda while the world lies in the wake of the degradations of this war. But a slim skein of hope resides within the hidden truths, long kept secret, and scattered throughout the isles—truths less reliant upon prophecy than heroism, and great sacrifice. Not everything is as it seems in this epic, long-awaited conclusion to trilogy which Booklist raved as “high fantasy in the vein of Stephen R. Donaldson or David Eddings, with generous helpings from George R. R. Martin.” "This is high fantasy in the vein of Stephen R. Donaldson or David Eddings, with generous helpings from George R. R. Martin. Durfee’s world building is exceptional: detailed and immersive, with a deep history and believable cultures. The plot is paced and driven, compellingly structured, with a conflict large enough to fuel forthcoming titles in the series."— Booklist "Durfee’s artist’s eye and fertile imagination populate this complex tale."— Publishers Weekly "This is an epic, EPIC fantasy."— SFFWorld.com " The Forgetting Moon provides plenty of well-crafted spectacle, thrills, suspense, blood, thunder and general sense of wonder."— Locus Magazine "Durfee has a knack for crafting an incredibly intricate, surprising story. This book set out to do a few very specific things, and it did every last one of those things with brutal efficiency."— Bookworm Blues.com Brian Lee Durfee is an artist and writer raised in Fairbanks, Alaska, and Monroe, Utah. He has done illustrations for Wizards of the Coast, Middle-Earth Enterprises, Dungeons & Dragons, Humane Society Wildlife Land Trust (Denali National Park), and many more. His art has been featured in SPECTRUM 3: Best in Contemporary Fantastic Art and L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Vol IX . He won the Arts for the Parks Grand Canyon Award and has a painting in the permanent collection of the Grand Canyon Visitors Center-Kolb Studio. Brian has written one epic horror novel along with the fantasy series, Five Warrior Angels. He lives in Salt Lake City. Chapter One: Stefan Wayland Only through silver and blood and the green elixir of life can the dead rise again. So I ask, would summoning the demons up from the underworld be a dread or glorious thing? For in the end it is life renewed. And that is true Absolution . —THE MOON SCROLLS OF MIA CHAPTER ONE STEFAN WAYLAND 6TH DAY OF THE FIRE MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON WROCLAW, GUL KANA Scorch and blood and the cold taste of terror hung stark in the air. “Who are you?” the frightened girl asked, shivering on the rocky slope below Stefan Wayland and Mud Undr’Fut. However, the question was not meant for Stefan or the small oghul in ragged leather armor crouching behind the lichen-covered boulder, hidden from view. Instead, the girl’s fright-filled eyes danced between the five whip-wielding Aalavarrè Solas and the black saber-toothed lion on the crimson-splattered hillside directly above her. There were a total of six dead fishermen strewn between the Aalavarrè and the girl, six innocent men cut down by silver whips of scorch, their mounts cut down too. The Aalavarrè had wasted little time in killing. And Stefan could tell that Mud’s fangs were in dire need of quenching. The oghul’s pursed gray lips concealed gums that were aflame and swollen, and his eyes were aglow at the sight of so much human blood. Mud gripped a small curved dagger in his gnarled fist, his entire body itching to go down and slake his thirst on the dead. Stefan put forth a hand, holding the small oghul back. His own gaze was focused on the white sailboat bobbing in the quay below and the four familiar castaways: Nail, Val-Draekin, the broad-faced oghul who had taken the black angel stone, and the girl with the white feathers tied in her hair who had stolen Gisela, the bow he had carried from Gallows Haven. “Where do you come from?” the girl repeated, panic and pleading in her voice. “We come from a place far from here,” Icelyn the White, firstborn of the blood cauldrons of Hragna’Ar, answered. The Aalavarrè’s voice was silky and hollow, her pale white face hidden behind a silver mask of Skull, white dragon-scale armor shimmering under a long black cloak. Her scorch whip dripped quills of hissing silver into the grass. Behind Icelyn were four other Aalavarrè Solas, also known as the Cauldron Born: Raakel-Jael the Green, Basque-Alia the Blue, Sashenya the Black, and Aamari-Laada the Red, all of them in colorful dragon-scale armor and similar black cloaks, silver eyes roaming the dismal l