The moon of gardens

The Malazan Empire simmers with discontent, bleddry by interminable warfare, bitter infighting and bloody confrontations. Even the imperial legions, long inured to the bloodshed, yearn for some respite. Yet Empress Laseen's rule remains absolute, enforced by her dread Claw assassins.For Sergeant Whiskey jack and his squad of Bridgeburners, and for Tattersail, surviving cadre mage of the Second Legion, the aftermath of the siege of Pale should have been a time to mourn the many dead. But Darujhistan, last of the Free Cities of Genabackis, yet holds out. It is to this ancient citadel that Laseen turns her predatory gaze.However, it would appear that the Empire is not alone in this great game. Sinister, shadowbound forces are gathering as the gods themselves prepare to play their hand . . .
Conceived and written on a panoramic scale, Gardens of the Moon is epic fantasy of the highest order--an enthralling adventure by an outstanding new voice.
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Now these ashes have grown cold, we open
the old book.
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These oil-stained pages recount the tales of
the Fallen, a frayed empire, words without warmth. The hearth has ebbed, its gleam and life's sparks are but memories against dimming eyes - what cast my mind, What hue my thoughts as I open the Book of the Fallen and breathe deep the scent of history?
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Listen, then, to these words carried on that breath.
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These tales are the tales of us all, again yet again.
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We are history relived and that is all, without end that is all.
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The Emperor is dead!
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So too his right hand--now cold, now severed!

But mark these dying shadows, twinned and flowing bloody and beaten, down and away from mortal sight. . .

From sceptre's rule dismissed, from gild candelabra the light now fled, from a hearth ringed in hard jewels, seven years this warmth has bled. . .

The Emperor is dead. So too his master'd companion, the rope cut clean.

But mark this burgeoning return faltering dark, the tattered shroud-embracing children in Empire's dying light.

Hear now the dirge faint reprised, before the sun's fall, this day spills red on buckled earth, and in obsidian eyes vengeance chimes seven times . . .

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* The artwork for the cover belongs to its respective
creator.

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