The Forgetting Moon by Brian Lee Durfee (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Forgetting Moon by Brian Lee Durfee A massive army on the brink of conquest looms large in a world where prophecies are lies, magic is believed in but never seen, and hope is where you least expect to find it. Welcome to the Five Isles, where war has come in the name of the invading army of SØr Sevier, a merciless host driven by the prophetic fervor of the Angel Prince, Aeros, toward the last unconquered kingdom of Gul Kana. Yet Gault, one of the elite Knights Archaic of SØr Sevier, is growing disillusioned by the crusade he is at the vanguard of just as it embarks on his Lord Aeros greatest triumph. While the eldest son of the fallen king of Gul Kana now reigns in ever increasing paranoid isolationism, his two sisters seek their own paths. Jondralyn, the older sister, renowned for her beauty, only desires to prove her worth as a warrior, while Tala, the younger sister, has uncovered a secret that may not only destroy her family but the entire kingdom. Then theres Hawkwood, the assassin sent to kill Jondralyn who has instead fallen in love with her and trains her in his deadly art. All are led further into dangerous conspiracies within the court. And hidden at the edge of Gul Kana is Nail, the orphan taken by the enigmatic Shawcroft to the remote whaling village of Gallows Haven, a young man who may hold the link to the salvation of the entire Five Isles. You may think you know this story, but everyone is not who they seem, nor do they fit the roles you expect. Durfee has created an epic fantasy full of hope in a world based on lies. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Brian Lee Durfee is an artist and writer raised in Fairbanks, Alaska, and Monroe, Utah. He has done illustrations for Wizards of the Coast, Middle-Earth Enterprises, Dungeons & Dragons, Humane Society Wildlife Land Trust (Denali National Park), and many more. His art has been featured in SPECTRUM 3: Best in Contemporary Fantastic Art and L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Vol IX. He won the Arts for the Parks Grand Canyon Award and has a painting in the permanent collection of the Grand Canyon Visitors Center-Kolb Studio. Brian has written one epic horror novel along with the fantasy series, Five Warrior Angels. He lives in Salt Lake City. Review "The Forgetting Moon provides plenty of well-crafted spectacle, thrills, suspense, blood, thunder and general sense of wonder."-- "-- Locus Magazine"A Bookworm Blues Annual Epic Best Books of 2016 List You Cant Miss! Selection "Durfee has a knack for crafting an incredibly intricate, surprising story. This book set out to do a few very specific things, and it did every last one of those things with brutal efficiency."-- "Bookworm Blues.com" Review Quote "This is high fantasy in the vein of Stephen R. Donaldson or David Eddings, with generous helpings from George R. R. Martin. Durfees world building is exceptional: detailed and immersive, with a deep history and believable cultures. The plot is paced and driven, compellingly structured, with a conflict large enough to fuel forthcoming titles in the series." Excerpt from Book The Forgetting Moon Be we slave, peasant, knight, or lord, within all of us dwells a craving, a longing deep in our soul to know our own heritage and to identify the birthright of our fellow man. For regardless the number of good works and heroic deeds we achieve in life, the fatherless are by nature deemed unholy, susceptible to betrayal, and useless in the eyes of the great One and Only. --THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON CHAPTER ONE NAIL 7TH DAY OF THE SHROUDED MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON GALLOWS HAVEN, GUL KANA We become what we think. Leastways, that was what Shawcroft was fond of saying. Nail fancied himself a good artist. It was what made him the happiest anyway, charcoal and parchment in hand--that, and dreaming of Ava Shay. He thought about both to an alarming degree. He also thought he was good with a sword. In fact, despite the pounding rain, things were going well. Nail ducked and raised his blade to parry. Steel cracked against steel. His hand stung with the impact. It felt good. He swung again, his momentum pushing him forward. He slipped, drawing Dokie Liddles sword harmlessly over his head. With a clatter, Nail fell to his knees, wooden shield plowing into the mud, sword skittering off with a twang. "Bloody Mother," he cursed, helmet cocked sideways, obscuring his vision. Fool! Concentrate! His sword had landed just close enough in the grass that he considered lunging for it, but the tip of Dokies blade was already poised over him. "Yield," Dokie ordered, brandishing his sword menacingly. Nail was the strongest seventeen-year-old in Gallows Haven. He wasnt easily beaten. He imagined the grin now spreading over Dokies face under the helm. Stefan Wayland, Zane Neville, even Zanes brute of a shepherd dog, Beer Mug, watched, all waiting to see him stand and thrash Dokie good. Jenko Bruk was nearest, a look of pure amusement on his face. The Gallows Haven banner hung lifeless, sopping with rain, from the pole cradled in Jenkos arm. The other forty young men gathered on the practice field held similar looks. A grin spread over the gruff, bearded countenance of their trainer, Baron Jubal Bruk. Frustrated, Nail sat back on his heels. Too much daydreaming about Ava Shay. Tossing his gauntlets aside, he dug grime from under his armor with determined fingers and said, "A lucky twist of fate for you, Dokie. Tis only this mud thats bested me." He shoved his gauntlets back on and tried to stand, feet slipping out from under him again. "Rotted angels," he cursed. The air stirred as a chill wind stung Nails face. The breath was sucked from his lungs. Lightning! His mind screamed in warning as a blinding flash flamed off Dokies armor. The boy was flung away with a crack of thunder, sliding on his back. Nail hugged the ground. The air was caustic, his lungs raw, mouth parched. White mist clung about his vision. A shower of sparks spiraled down around him, dissolving in the rain-splattered grass. The back of his sword hand sang with pain. There were muffled voices, as if he was hearing them from under water. Jenko Bruk and Stefan Wayland were standing over him. "Lucky bastard," Jenko muttered, dark amber eyes shifting between Nail and the others. Zanes shepherd dog was barking up a riot. Stefan held forth a hand. Nail took it, stood on wobbly legs. He spotted Dokie sprawled in the mud, arms and legs splayed out, blank eyes staring up at the rain. Dokies body had left a path where it had slid through the muck. His helmet was gone and smoke drifted from the soles of his leather boots. Hoarse breaths swelled from his chest. "Hes still alive!" Baron Jubal Bruk bellowed as he made the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over his breast and looked toward the sky. "Lets get him into town." Baron Bruk and his son, Jenko, along with a few others, snatched up Dokies limp form into their arms and headed for town. The rest of the sodden troop, clacking and clattering in their armor, quickly gathered their belongings and followed the baron south toward Gallows Haven. Nail struggled behind the rest, slogging through the muck, still in a daze. He looked skyward, eyes trying to focus as rain peppered his face. The back side of his sword hand still burned under his gauntlet. "Your satchel." Stefan came up behind him, draping the bags leather strap over Nails shoulder. "You almost forgot it." "Right, thanks." The words felt strange on Nails dry tongue. He swallowed hard, still trying to regain his bearings. His satchel held his most prized possessions: prayer book, art supplies, collection of charcoal drawings. Claps of thunder boomed behind Nail and Stefan as they hustled their pace to keep up with the others. Patches of trees added some shelter from the rain, but the road mainly bore them through fields and farmland. Hedges, wattle-and-daub fences, and rows of stone lined their path. The hollow clanking of goat bells sounded in the distance. On occasion, Zanes dog would bark into the gathering darkness of early evening, as if something were out there following them. Through the fog that still covered his brain, Nails imagination began spinning with unholy images, images that had plagued his dreams since childhood. The fiery forms of the nameless beasts of the underworld. Red-eyed beasts that seemed to haunt the minds of lonely children, those children born fatherless, motherless, and alone. Nail knew he was different. He was a bastard and unnatural. When they tottered by a candlelit cottage, a whiff of woodsmoke swirled past Nails nose, the aroma clearing his mind of churning thoughts. Soon the small company of trainees broke through a stand of evergreens and Gallows Haven was a sprinkling of lights before them. To the right of their path, on a low, sloping hill overlooking Gallows Bay, was the empty husk of Gallows Keep. It had not seen use in centuries. Now its leaning crenellated battlements rose over the village, nothing more than the ancient, broken-down remnants of a castle that was once whole. To their left was the village chapel. Nail felt sudden reassurance in its bulky gray presence. Despite what negative things Shawcroft said about the Church of Laijon and its teachings, Nail felt there was safety held within the chapels great arches, in the thickness of its walls and its stoic grandeur. Above the door, three large stained-glass windows inlaid with intricate designs threw colorful shadows across their path. As those bearing Dokies lightning-struck form passed through the front doors of the chapel, Nail looked up at those splendorous windows. On brighter days, with tattered sketchbook in hand, he would sit outside under them and sketch. In the center window was an image of Laijon, five colorful angel stones hanging above him like halos: white, red, black, green, and blue. Laijon wore a coat of shimmering chain mail and hefted a silver battle-ax named Forgetting Moon. In the left window floated two white-robed angels, one wielding a broadsword, Afflicted Fire, the other a black-wood crossbow, Blackest Heart. In the right window were two more heavenly apparitions, one with a horned war helm, Lonesome Crown, and the other carrying a mythical shield, Ethic Shroud. These were the five ancient weapons of lore. Once Jubal and Jenko Bruk and the others were inside the chapel, those five angelic images cast ghostlike reflections of white, red, black, green, and blue over them as they laid Dokie on the floor before Bishop Tolbret. The bishop was a plain-faced man, short and balding. He wore the dull brown cassock and black sash of his station with sacred white robes underneath. In the vaulted apse behind the bishop was a statue of Laijon cut from rough-hewn stone, the muscular carving thrice the size of a normal man, naught but a loincloth about his waist and a wreath of white heather atop his head. Laijon bore a flawless face but for the faint red line representing the fatal wound in his neck. He hung upon an even larger black-painted wooden replica of the Atonement Tree; its twining branches soared, almost reaching the ceiling of the chapel, filling the entire space of the apse. When Bishop Tolbret saw Nail, muddy and disheveled, he shot him an unfriendly look. Nail dropped his gaze and peeled off his gauntlets. His right hand, his sword hand, stung something fierce. The back of his hand bore a thin burn in the shape of a cross. The fresh wound, so raw and red, almost seemed to glow. Nail didnt even notice the bile rise in his throat, or the gentle twisting of his stomach, for hed seen the image of a glowing red cross on the back of his hand before. As a child, alone and afraid, hed seen it in his dreams. Nail and Stefan sat alone, Nails charcoal drawing unrolled on the table between them. The Grayken Spear Inns tavern was abuzz about Dokie Liddle. Late winter days along the southwestern shores of Gul Kana were likely to bring sudden bursts of rain that ofttimes turned to snow. But lightning strikes so close to town were rare indeed. Dokies injury had reined in the normally boisterous mood of the tavern to a somber crawl. Still, the barmaids were busy doing their jobs. And one young lady who worked here always had Nails attention--Ava Shay. She was his age, seventeen. Over the past year, when Nail could break away from working the mines with Shawcroft and come into town Details ISBN1481465236 Author Brian Lee Durfee Short Title FORGETTING MOON R/E Pages 800 Series Five Warrior Angels Language English ISBN-10 1481465236 ISBN-13 9781481465236 Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Series Number 1 Year 2017 Publication Date 2017-08-29 UK Release Date 2017-08-29 Edition Description Reprint ed. Audience General Publisher Simon & Schuster Imprint Simon & Schuster Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States US Release Date 2017-08-29 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:139007797;

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