Two friends. Two opinions. One dilemma. On fabled Navarys—the Atlantis of the North-lands—Liliyah studies energea as all thirteen-year-olds do, devoting her mornings to mastering the music that controls her magic. Afternoons, she hobnobs with the artisan crafters and shopkeepers who built the island city-state into the trade capital of the world. Her friend Mago faces struggles unsuspected by carefree Liliyah. His father, a renowned inventor, succumbs to irrational flashes of rage. His mother holds a lethal secret close. When the king's geomancer announces that a tidal wave threatens Navarys, every citizen on the island springs to action. Amidst the uproar, the aeromancer Palujon steals Mago's father's latest invention: unique lodestones with the potential to revolutionize life as the Navareans know it. Mago vows to make good his father's loss. But Liliyah questions Palujon's motives. Why would a man of his stature break the law? Is he truly a dastard? Two friends. Two answers. Life and death hang on their choices.

Seven years ago, reeling from a curse in the wake of battle, Gael sought sanctuary and found it in a most perilous place. The citadel of a troll warlord - haunt of the desperate and violent - proves a harsh refuge for a civilized mage. But Gael wields power enough to create an oasis of order amidst the chaos. Now master of the metals that flow to the citadel's weapon forges, Gael rules his tally room unchallenged, until he discovers a theft within its vaults. Gael loves the quiet certainty of black ink tally marks on smooth parchment, but his search for the thief leads to a maze of unexpected answers, putting his hard-won sanctuary - and his life - at risk. Set in the Bronze Age of J.M. Ney-Grimm's North-lands, The Tally Master brings mystery and secrets to epic fantasy in a suspenseful tale of betrayal and redemption. Excerpt from The Tally Master The tally chamber was his retreat and sanctum, perfumed by the flat odor of ink threaded with a warm hint of game from the parchments. But now . . . ? Now an ingot of tin had gone missing. Eighty-two ingots rested in their coffers in the tin vault. There should have been eighty-three. There remained a chance the discrepancy could be innocent. Perhaps he'd mistakenly inked one tally too many in the morning, when he released the tin ingots to the blade smithy, the armor smithy, and the privy smithy. Perhaps - in the evening - he'd omitted one tally, when he locked away the new-minted ingots from the smelters into their guarding vaults. It could still be innocence. But Gael didn't think so. There was evil intent at work in this missing ingot of rare tin.

The warriors of Torbellai brought back a prize in the night, and young Paitra wants to see it. Even hidden away in the armory, the artifact changed the whole mood of their mountain citadel from dread foreboding to hope. And Paitra's people need hope to turn the tide in their long war against the troll horde. Might this small triumph presage a mightier victory? But the warlord hid the fighters' plunder for good reason. Forged by trolls and radiating magic, it presents grave risk to the soul and spirit of any who approach it. Sneaking past the weapon smiths into the armory with his brother, Paitra still believes his home a safe place for boy's mischief. But bronze hammered by trolls is anything but safe. Opportunity cloaked within its lethal enchantment awaits the right unlocking key. Could Paitra wield that key? And will he survive his curiosity? Through death into magic and sound, Paitra confronts . . . resonant bronze.

On a whim, the rainbow's child falls to earth, where a cruel adversary takes advantage of her innocence. Bereft of her thunder-swept heavens, she dwindles. The sky calls to her, but she cannot answer. This transcendent short story of J.M. Ney-Grimm's troll-ridden North-lands explores how inner freedom creates outer opportunities. Earth trumps heaven until ancient music plays. Excerpt from Rainbow's Lodestone She did not see him, but a rainbow's child might not. The sky was her realm - air and light and wind - with brief visits to earth and the creatures of earth. She pranced and leapt and whirled. She tossed back her head, tresses swirling, and flung her arms skyward. She bent and bowed. She rejoiced in this highland dell. He threw the lodestone. It caught the hem of her gauzy gown of light, pinning a sapphire panel to the ground. Pain. Terror. Shock. Her face registered all these and more. She tried to straighten, tugging at her dress. It dragged her downward, trapping her against the ground. She looked up, eyes dilating, pleading in the gesture of one hand. Now she was seeing him.

Gefnen – troll-herald and hound for Koschey the Deathless – hunts life across the moors of the far north. Not deer, not pheasant, not meat for the table. His master eats choicer fruits. When the piercing scent of youth tingles his senses, Gefnen focuses his chase. The prey – a boy – lacks guardians strong enough to best a troll. Swift triumph awaits. But other seekers tilt the chances of this game. Spirit of storm, poignant memories of a sea-prince, and something more ancient than memory or the wind shape the looming tumult. Gefnen hunts victory, but a darker victory hunts him. Excerpt from Star-drake On horseback, Gefnen inhaled, long and lingeringly. He could smell them - his prey - somewhere ahead, warm and live and vibrant. My lord Koschey will be pleased with this catch. Pure and piercing amongst the scents of the elders came the perfume of the young one. Gefnen would secure him first, then the others as chance permitted. But Koschey's deathless essence would expand threefold on the boy's vitality alone. Gefnen glanced at the star patterns in the black sky. Moonrise would come before he reached the travelers' camp, but no matter. His troll blood gave him an advantage in the dimness of starshine, mapping his surroundings by smell alone, while his human foes blundered in the dark. But they were little better under lunar light. And they would not be expecting him. He felt his lips stretch in a not-smile, their dry surfaces cracking at the center points, oozing fluid. His sweeping tongue caught the droplets before they stained his chin. Slightly salt, strongly metallic. He frowned.