The Heroic Legends Series - Bêlit: Bone Whispers E-Book

Michael Stackpole

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: The Heroic Legends Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 43

Beschreibung

Capturing the electric short fiction energy that led Robert E. Howard to be one of the top fantasy writers of the century, with exclusive serialized eBook stories starring Conan, Solomon Kane, and more by many of today's top writers in fantasy and sword-and-sorcery. "Those who possess the codex come to a bad end." The Shemite shaman N'yaga is in his village when he is visited by the young Bêlit, there in pursuit of the Codex Osyrania. The Codex is a magical book that contains the location of all the secrets ever buried, each spot marked by a golden cross. Some crosses lead to treasure, some spell doom. The book was given to N'yaga by Bêlit's father, who asked that he safeguard it. N'yaga reveals that a captain he served lost his ship gambling and took the Codex to buy it back. He throws the bones to tell her future, and sees her fate entwined with a black-maned lion. Yet he also sees in the bones that he is destined to go with Bêlit to the island of Knefetalla to retrieve the Codex. Together they set out in search of the legendary book.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Map

1

2

3

4

5

About the Author

The Halls of Immortal Darkness

LEAVE US A REVIEW

We hope you enjoy this book – if you did we would really appreciate it if you can write a short review. Your ratings really make a difference for the authors, helping the books you love reach more people.

You can rate this book, or leave a short review here:

Amazon.com,

Amazon.co.uk,

Goodreads,

Barnes & Noble,

Bêlit: BONE WHISPERS

E-book edition ISBN: 9781803366517

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First edition: July 2024

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

© 2024 Conan Properties International (“CPI”). CONAN, CONAN THE BARBARIAN, CONAN THE CIMMERIAN, HYBORIA, THE SAVAGE SWORD OF CONAN and related logos, names and character likenesses thereof are trademarks or registered trademarks of CPI. ROBERT E. HOWARD is a trademark or registered trademark of Robert E. Howard Properties LLC. Heroic Signatures is a trademark of Cabinet Licensing LLC.

Michael A. Stackpole asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

N’Yaga sat cross-legged in the entrance to his cave. Wisps of smoke rose in lazy threads from the village hidden in the jungle below his hill. Across the clearing from him, just beyond the trailhead, birds flitted about the canopy, calling in alarm. Someone walked the trail to seek him. But then he’d known of their coming before the birds took flight, for he had seen it in the bones.

He returned his attention to the browned and ancient ivory he’d scattered at his feet. Some had been collected by him, others by students, but most had been handed down by the generations of shamans who’d preceded him. He had utter faith in their predictions, no matter how dire. As they had foretold, a tall and powerful warrior appeared on the clearing edge. Ritual scarring marked him as from farther south in the Black Kingdoms. He shouldered the carcass of a small antelope—both an offering and an attestation to his hunting skill. N’Yaga had no name for him, yet knew him from the bones. He is first now, but he will be the last.

Next came Izefia, N’Yaga’s nephew by marriage. Agitated, smaller, the younger man carried a spear and an oblong shield, yet lacked the hunter’s martial bearing. Izefta assumes he has power; this other man radiates it even without weapons displayed. The two men halted just beyond the trailhead. Just like N’Yaga, they waited for the final member of their party. The bones had described her as they would a force of nature. And the very thought of the adventure into which she leads me would drive Izefta to his knees in terror.

She strode past them slowly, her manner utterly self-assured. Her trim, athletic form was swathed in the robes of a desert tribesman of Shem—something N’Yaga recognized easily, having visited that realm before. Yet her eyes, dark and sharp, and the stripe of pale flesh visible above the veil, set her apart from those whose clothes she wore.

As did the slender blade worn at her left hip.

N’Yaga made no attempt to hide a smile. You are your father’s daughter. She’d grown in the years since he’d last seen her. Physically, certainly, but the fierceness in her eyes, and the determination that had brought her so far south, and had even enabled her to find him—that marked her true growth. It had been there when she was a child, but had fully blossomed in the woman before him.

She passed the men and dropped to a knee, facing N’Yaga. She addressed him in Shemitish, her voice pleasant and clear. “I have traveled far, N’Yaga, seeking thee for thine wisdom. For you, for your village, this meager offering, renewing friendship and in hope.”

N’Yaga beckoned. “Come forward, child.” He replied to her in her own language, then repeated the command in his native tongue, for his nephew’s benefit.

Izefia blocked her with an outstretched hand. “No, uncle. She comes dressed as a raider. She is a danger.”

“To you, perhaps, if you continue to thwart her.” N’Yaga snorted. “To me, she is no threat at all.”

The woman arched an elegant black eyebrow, and replied fluidly in the same language with little trace of accent. “I come out of respect and to honor one who was welcome in my house.”