The Hawk and His Boy (The Tormay Trilogy, Book 1)
Christopher Bunn
Language: English
Pages: 164
ISBN: B00V1D6DGA
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
One night in the city of Hearne, a young thief named Jute is instructed to break into a wizard's house and steal an old wooden box. It sounds like a straightforward job.
Climb down the chimney, creep through the house, find the thing and get out. Unbeknownst to the boy, however, the box contains the knife that killed the Wind.
Overcome with curiosity, Jute opens the box, setting off a chain of events that soon has him on the run from the wizard, his old masters in the Thieves Guild, and their client, who happens to be the Lord of Darkness himself.
On his odyssey of escape, Jute is aided by an unlikely assortment of friends, including a guilt-ridden assassin, a reluctant wizard, and a hawk who just might be able to teach him how to fly.
But the Darkness will do anything to find Jute, even if it means plunging the whole land into war.
The Encyclopedia of Magic and Alchemy
Modern Magick: Twelve Lessons in the High Magickal Arts
Condensed Chaos: An Introduction to Chaos Magic
Scars of Mirrodin: The Quest for Karn (Magic: the Gathering)
THE HAWK AND HIS BOY Book One of The Tormay Trilogy By Christopher Bunn Copyright 2010 by Christopher Bunn. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any mechanical or electronic means, including photocopying, recording, or by any.
Hear its lines creaking in the wind. The sea was alive with light. Something shivered and tightened inside him. The regent. Who’d have thought it? CHAPTER NINE FEN AWAKE Fen desperately wanted to stay asleep. It was so much more comfortable in the darkness. The darkness was soft, and she had the notion that waking up might prove to be painful. It’ll be bright, she thought. The sun in my eyes will be bright and I’ll blink and squint like one of those little barn owls caught outside in.
Has ever had the power to fashion a sceadu. No man ever will—thankfully. This begs the question: if not the gods, then who was powerful enough to have created the three sceadus? That was the question. Perhaps one of the four wanderers, the anbeorun, could command enough will to shape darkness? But they would never have reason, for the creation of a sceadu meant a level of evil in the creator equal to the abomination created. That made no sense in light of what was known of the wanderers.
Of the wolves. That was why she had left Andolan for the solitude of the country manor in the east. At least, that was the practical reason. She would have left sooner or later, for she could never bear the town that long. Too many memories. The wolves had hurried her decision. Two years ago, she had been woken in the night by the wind murmuring at her window in the castle. She had leaned against the sill to listen. Normally, she did not trust the wind, for she found it fickle, given to fits of.
Along his arm. Know you not the words of Staer Gemyndes, with which he began the Gerecednes?“Deep within the darkness, further e’en the void, Nokhoron Nozhan built himself a fortress of night.” I am only a boy. I know nothing of such things. If men forget such things, then all that is will surely pass away. The shadow deepened. And moved, ever so slightly. As if that which cast it was beginning to wake. Nightmares stirring from their sleep. Shivering with hunger. We must be away. Now! I.