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.
Naming the Witch: Magic, Ideology, and Stereotype in the Ancient World
Another Fine Myth (Myth, Book 1)
Pawn of Prophecy (The Belgariad, Book 1)
ankles. Lights flared in his head—blots of scarlet and white pulsing with the beat of his heart. His lungs burned. Hold on. I can’t. You can. It’s always been like this. What has? Life. Not anymore. All at once, the sounds changed. Another sort of roar presented itself. The rhythmic surge of the surf. Growing louder. His mind groped to understand. The sea? And then he was tumbling through the air. Air. Rushing around him. His mouth flew open from sheer surprise and he sucked in cool air.
the university in Hearne. For the tower was a school of wizards, a secret place not known to many. Those who did know had no cause to share such knowledge with others. The tower could be found only if one already knew it was there. The place was woven about with spells. Travelers who came along the moors tended to find themselves on twisting paths and heading east or south or straight over the cliffs into the sea when they meant to go north. He had been a quiet boy, even for the Stone Tower. The
across the table from Nio. “Here he is, and I’ll have my coin.” He looked up. The old sop was standing by and, across the table, sat a fat man. Nio fished a silver piece from his pocket. “As promised.” He tossed it through the air. But before the old man could grab it, a hand darted out and snatched it. “Hey there,” protested the old man. “You don’t rouse me from my drink for nothing, Gally,” said the fat man.“Here's a copper. That’s enough for some ale. Get on with you.” Grumbling, the
modification their master willed. Nio thought uncomfortably about the wihht absorbing his blood. It had wanted to take more than he had wanted to give, hadn’t it?—right at the end? That didn’t line up with what old Fram had written. No matter. He would unmake the wihht soon. Besides, it would be good to have the thing unraveled and gone before Severan or one of the other old fools might come by the house and stumble on it. The irritating thing about Fynden Fram’s writing was that, despite the
the washing on a line, and she had paused, pegs in her mouth and a damp shift in her arms, when he had ridden up. Love at first sight for both of them, Hennen always solemnly intoned. Melanor Callas’s story, however, was different. “That idiot tried to set his horse at the holly hedge bordering the garden. Of course the horse balked at the prickles and pitched him over onto his head. Knocked him cold, and blood everywhere. I ruined a good tablecloth wrapping up that knucklehead of his. Wouldn’t