. . . the half-mad soldier struggled to his feet. Around him he noticed tall hills, even mountains, and the first glimmers of sunlight. Yet, none of them looked at all familiar. None of them at all resembled the peak in which he and his friends had discovered the tomb of Bartuc. Norrectook a step forward, trying to get his bearings. An unsettling creaking accompanied every motion. Norrec looked down to discover that not only his hands were clad in metal. Armor. Everywhere he stared, Norrec only saw the same blood-colored metal plates. He had thought that his shock and horror could not possibly grow worse, but simply gazing at the rest of his body nearly threw the formerly steadysoldier into complete panic. His arms, his torso, his legs, the same crimson armor now hid all. To add to the mockery, Norrec saw that he even wore Bartuc’s ancient but still serviceable leather boots. Bartuc . . . Warlord of Blood. Bartuc, whose dark magic had apparently saved the helpless soldier at the price of Sadun and the sorcerer’s lives.
LEGACY OF BLOOD Richard A. Knaak
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To my brother, Win—fellow creative spiritOne Two Three Four
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ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Epilogue About The Author
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The skull gave them a lopsided grin, as if cheerfully inviting the trio to join it for all eternity. “Looks like we’re not the first,” Sadun Tryst murmured. The scarred, sinewy fighter tapped the skull with one edge of his knife, causing the fleshless watcher to wobble. Behind the macabre sight, they could just make out the spike that had piercedtheir predecessor’s head, leaving him dangling until time had let all but the skull drop to the floor in a confused heap. “Did you think we would be?” whispered the tall, cowled figure. If Sadun had a lean, almost acrobatic look to his build, Fauztin seemed nearly cadaverous. The Vizjerei sorcerer moved almost like a phantom as he, too, touched the skull, this time with one gloved finger. “Nosorcery here, though. Only crude but sufficient mechanics. Nothing to fear.” “Unless it’s your head on the next pole.” The Vizjerei tugged at his thin, gray goatee. His slightly slanted eyes closed once as if in acknowledgment to his partner’s last statement. Whereas Sadun had a countenance more akin to an untrustworthy weasel—and sometimes the personality to match—Fauztin reminded some of a withered...