By Glen Cook
As soon as a effective state reigned, yet now all is chaos. within the massive reaches of the barren region, a tender heretic escapes sure loss of life and embarks on a project of insanity and glory. he's El Murid - the Disciple - who vows to carry order, prosperity, and righteousness to the wilderness humans of Hammad al Nakir. After 4 lengthy centuries, El Murid is the savior who's destined to construct a brand new empire from the blood his enemies. yet all isn't because it turns out, and the sinister forces pulling the strings of empire come into the sunshine. Who and what lies in the back of El Murid's imaginative and prescient of a desolate tract empire?
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Extra resources for A Fortress in Shadow
We caught them before the very palisades of the heathen traders. Only two passed the infidels' gates. We were gentlemen. We did not burn their wooden walls. We did not slay the men and enslave the women. We treated with their council of factors, who knew your family of old. We presented our proofs. They took council, then delivered the bandits into our mercy. We were not merciful. They took many days dying, as an example to others who would break laws older than the desert. " "For that I must thank you, Mustaf.
Nassef loomed over them on a big black stallion. His right hand held a bloody blade. Behind him were another three youths from El Aquila, and Meryem and another girl. El Murid crept out. " Nassef swung down. Contemptuously, he wiped his blade on the chest of one of the dead men. "Priests. " The brothers had not been priests themselves, only wards of the Shrine who had been cared for by the abbot in return for doing the donkey work around the monastery. " El Murid demanded. "Meryem saw them start after you.
He kept passing out. The fifth or sixth time he wakened in a low cave that stank of fox. Pain lanced from temple to temple. He had suffered headaches all his life, but never one as unremitting as this. He moaned. It became a plaintive whine. "Ah. You're awake. Good. Here. " Something that might have been a small, very old man crouched in a deep shadow. A wrinkled hand proffered a tin cup. Its bottom was barely wet with some dark, fragrant liquid. Micah drained it. Oblivion returned. Yet he heard a distant voice droning endlessly of faith, God, and the manifest destiny of the children of Hammad al Nakir.
A Fortress in Shadow by Glen Cook