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Miles Cameron - [Traitor Son Cycle 01] - The Red Knight (v) (epub) - dokument [*.epub] To my sister-in-law, Nancy Watt Contents Cover Title page Dedication. Antia King Daris rules a peaceful and prosperous land, but his conniving brother Jerim covets the. stand against mortal and demonic enemies: Alyda Stenna, Captain of the Hammer of Antia returns from. Click here to download The Red Knight. The Red Knight ebook by Miles Cameron - Rakuten Kobo. Read The Red Knight by Miles Cameron with Rakuten Kobo.. Twenty eight florins a month is a huge.
Jump to content. Posted 11 December - Posted 28 December - Posted 07 January - Posted 08 January - Malbolge, on 08 January - Posted 21 February -
Along with the Red Knight himself, Bad Tom was stand out for me "I have a magic sword, I wanna go try it on something! There's the subversion of the tropes and standards of fantasy that we come to expect from modern fantasy Good dialogue "Lachlan for Aa! I think this book really deserves some attention You'll also be doing me a favour, because I really want to see this series and this author continue.
For those who don't know and are interested, Miles Cameron is actually the pseudonym of one Christian Cameron, a noted Canadian author of historical fiction, Medieval Historian, former US Army Officer, and re-enactor both military and non-military. While his previous books have been History with fiction thrown in, this is Fantasy fiction heavily informed by Historical knowledge The angel he covets. His body craves Gabriel and he hungers for a taste of her blushed lips, but love between angels is a punishable sin… A sin Lucifer is ready to risk his legacy for… This book is Free on June 25, Kindle Big Head by Blake Wilder: The girl of my dreams is in trouble.
Her reputation is ruined. Her engagement is broken. And now she needs me… This is going to be fun. Good girl or not, the weeklong fling with a high school jock may change everything. A shifter child is missing. And the human female connected to both tragedies is hiding a secret.
This is book 6 in a series of standalone novels. Eliza Wells was utterly heartbroken after Lord Avondale, the love of her life, turned away from her and chose to marry another. Grey, grey, grey from the sky to the ground. Pale grey, dark grey, black. Beyond the sheep, to the north, rose the Adnacrags - two hundred leagues of dense mountains that lowered over the fields, their tops lost in the clouds.
The captain laughed at his own thoughts. The dozen soldiers nearest him looked; every head turned, each wearing matching expressions of fear.
The captain rubbed the pointed beard at his chin, shaking off the water. The older man sat quietly on a war horse. He was better armed than most of the valets; wearing his scarlet surcote with long, hanging sleeves over an Eastern breastplate, and with a fine sword four feet long to the tip. He, too, combed the water out of his pointed beard while he thought.
Even with a gloved hand keeping the water from his eyes, he couldn't see the edge of the Wild - there wasn't a stand of trees large enough to hide a deer within a mile. Two miles. Far off to the north, many leagues beyond the rainy horizon and the mountains, was the Wall.
Past the Wall was the Wild. True, the Wall was breached in many places and the Wild ran right down into the country. The Adnacrags had never been cleared. But here- Here, wealth and power held the Wild at bay. Should have held the Wild at bay. And we need the work. He was new to the trade and well-born, but the captain appreciated how quickly he had recovered his poise.
At the same time, Michael needed to learn. His eyes were elsewhere. He nodded to his squire and gave his destrier, Grendel, a little rein so he backed a few steps and turned. The big horse could smell blood and something else he didn't like. He didn't like most things, even at the best of times, but this was spooking him and the captain could feel his mount's tension. Given that Grendel wore a chamfron over his face with a spike a foot long, the horse's annoyance could qucikly translate into mayhem.
He motioned to Toby, who was now sitting well to the side and away from the isolated steading-house and eating, which is what Toby tended to do whenever left to himself. The captain turned to face his standard bearer and his two marshals where they sat their own fidgeting horses in the rain, waiting for his commands.
They'll stay on their guard until we send them a relief,' he said. The discovery of the killings in the steading had interrupted their muddy trek to the fortress. They'd been riding since the second hour after midnight, after a cold camp and equally cold supper. No one looked happy.
When he was answered only with silence, he looked around. It was oak, bound in iron, and it had been broken in two places, the iron hinges inside the door had bent where they'd been forced off their pins. Trios of parallel grooves had ripped along the grain of the wood - in one spot, the talons had ripped through a decorative iron whorl, a clean cut.
Jacques had seen to his own mount and was now standing at Grendel's big head, eyeing the spike warily. Despite the fact that he and Michael were less than five years apart.
Get me the huntsman. Jacques was not really a valet. He was really the captain's man and, as such, he had his own servant - Toby. A recent addition. A scrawny thing with large eyes and quick hands, completely enveloped in his red wool cote, which was many sizes too big.
Toby took the horse and gazed at his captain with hero-worship, a big winter apple forgotten in his hand. The captain liked a little hero-worship.
Don't give him any free rein or there'll be trouble,' the captain said gruffly. He paused. The captain went into the steading by the splintered door.
Closer up, he could see that the darker brown was not a finish. It was blood. Behind him, his destrier gave a snort that sounded remarkably like human derision - though whether it was for the page or his master was impossible to tell. The woman just inside the threshold had been a nun before she was ripped open from neck to cervix. Her long, dark hair, unbound from the confines of her wimple, framed the horror of her missing face.
She lay in a broad pool of her own blood that ran down into the gaps between the boards. There were tooth marks on her skull - the skin just forward of one ear had been shredded, as if something had gnawed at her face for some time, flensing it from the bone.
One arm had been ripped clear of her body, the skin and muscle neatly eaten away so that only shreds remained, bones and tendons still hanging together.
The white hand with the silver IHS ring and the cross was untouched. The captain looked at her for a long time. Just beyond the red ruin of the nun was a single clear footprint in the blood and ordure, which was already brown and sticky in the moist, cool air. Some of the blood had begun to leech into the pine floor boards, smooth from years of bare feet walking them.
The leeched blood blurred the edge of the print, but the outline was clear - it was the size of a war horse's hoof or bigger, with three toes. The captain heard his huntsman come up and dismount outside.
He didn't turn, absorbed in the parallel exercises of withholding the need to vomit and committing the scene to memory. There was a second, smudged print further into the room, where the creature had pivoted its weight to pass under the low arch to the main room beyond.
It had dug a furrow in the pine with its talons. And a matching furrow in the base board that ran up into the wattle and plaster. A dew claw. Gelfred stepped carefully past the body.
Like most gentlemen, he carried a short staff - really just a stick shod in silver, like a mountebank's wand. Or a wizard's. He used it first to point and then to pry something shiny out of the floorboards.
A silver cross set with pearls dangled from his stick. She gave the others time to escape.