The Mongoliad: Book One Collector's Edition (The Mongoliad Cycle)

The Mongoliad: Book One Collector's Edition (The Mongoliad Cycle)

Neal Stephenson, Erik Bear, Greg Bear, Joseph Brassey, Cooper Moo

Language: English

Pages: 0

ISBN: 1522610839

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The Mongols are coming. A desperate plan is formed: Kill the Khan of Khans and prevent the fall of Christendom....


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Change passed through the women on the walls above, like a gust of wind moving over a sea of grass. No order was issued by Vera. But bows creaked as strings were relaxed. Arrows snicked back into their quivers and swords into their scabbards. “Brother Percival,” said Vera, her voice suddenly husky, “we have done you an injustice. You and the other Skjaldbræður are welcome—more than welcome—inside our citadel.” * * * Their plan of inquiring after provisions forgotten, the party fell into.

She no longer had the strength to resist when a woman thrust a reed basket filled with warm flatbread at her. Lian dropped a few coins into her hands and accepted a still-warm disk in return. She bit into the soft flatbread with relish, savoring the sweet heat of baked onions on her tongue. She wolfed down the bread, sating a hunger she had refused to acknowledge, and once the bread was gone, she returned her attention to her immediate goal. The celebration was a marvelous spectacle, attracting.

Kept you safe?” The inquisitor stared at the crowd as they reacted to Raphael’s words. Their voices rose in a cacophony of confusion and questions, until a consensus was reached. The noise died as quickly as it had begun, and in that silence, Raphael heard three names called out. “Magistrate,” he said, directing the crowd’s attention. “Do you know where these townsfolk might be?” The magistrate laughed at him, a note of panic in his voice. He tugged Gerda closer to him, his sword blade rising.

Bath?” Gansukh opened his hands and stared at his palm. Would the moth be crushed by the pressure of its prison before it could escape? “My gratitude is endless, Master Chucai.” * * * Gansukh drifted in a cloud. The walls of the room were obscured by the steam from the pool, and he floated in the hot water. The pool was larger than the interior of a chieftain’s ger, and initially he had balked at soiling so much water. His clothes, stiff with dried sweat and dust, had been taken away by.

Fled at the sight of the ashwhitened skin. The next village was a half-day’s journey upriver. Mainz was so far away that it might as well have been the Holy Land. He didn’t know where he was going, and it didn’t matter. As long as he ran away from them. He didn’t know how many were chasing him, nor did he want to stop and find out. As a boy, his uncle Heinrich had told him stories of the ghost hunt—the spirits of damned hunters unable to ascend to Heaven until they caught the Devil, but they.

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