The Mongoliad: Book Three (The Mongoliad Cycle)

The Mongoliad: Book Three (The Mongoliad Cycle)

Neal Stephenson, Erik Bear, Greg Bear, Joseph Brassey, Cooper Moo

Language: English

Pages: 0

ISBN: 1491512164

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

An untested group of Shield-Brethren initiates stand before the sprawling Mongol army in a bloody circus of sadistic violence, while a hardened company of their finest roam the desolate wasteland of the Mongol empire, wrapping their dead in blood-soaked soil and struggling to find the strength to fight even as they mourn. The warrior-monks, both in the East and the West, sharpen their swords for a final battle.

The Khan of Khans must be slain if Christendom is to survive.

A sweeping historical interpretation of the battle for Europe against the invading Mongols and their ruthless Khan, The Mongoliad: Book Three brings the epic adventures of the Shield-Brethren to a brutal and thrilling conclusion.

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Munokhoi’s gaze. Munokhoi’s hands tightened, and Gansukh heard the grinding strain of Munokhoi’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. With a mighty effort, Munokhoi composed himself and let go of Gansukh with a tiny shove. “A lucky bet,” he growled. “The Blue Wolf favors me,” Gansukh acknowledged with a small nod. Munokhoi pursed his lips, holding his words in check. He glared at the surrounding crowd, and Gansukh could see him assessing the general mood of those who were paying more attention to

as they sat down on the stools. “Did you send the dove?” Ocyrhoe asked. “What dove?” “The dove on the statue of Minerva,” Ocyrhoe said, and as the panic threatened to overwhelm her, she let her tongue go. “Are you the Bind-Mother?” Léna gave her another long, questioning stare. “I see,” she sighed at last. “You are an orba matre.” Ocyrhoe didn’t know what to do with her hands, and so she clutched the rim of the stool. Holding tight. “I am... I don’t understand.” “A child, born of a Binder

Father Rodrigo shoved Ferenc sharply, and he staggered backward and barely caught himself from falling. “Open your eyes, boy! Domine, oculos habet, et non videbut.” His eyes were frighteningly bright and large, and he pulled his hand free of Ferenc’s grip. Shivering with rage, he grabbed Ferenc’s shoulders and spun the boy around. “I have seen her in my visions, and she is all that stands between me and our salvation. Look!” Ocyrhoe dashed across the road, her legs at awkward angles as if each

animal toward the fallen Shield-Brethren master. A mounted Mongol warrior charged toward him, bow drawn, and Eleázar raised his shield to block the horseman’s arrow. He felt the arrow hit his shield, and then the Mongol rider was behind him. Twisting in his saddle, Eleázar caught the second arrow in his shield too. The Mongols were really good at shooting their bows from horseback, and he had seen them twist their bodies and shoot arrows behind them. He swept his shield around, in time to

still and kept her breathing as even as possible, hoping he would think she was asleep. With her eyes lightly closed, Lian listened to Gansukh as he rolled out of the tangled mass of furs and blankets that were their shared bed. He stretched, grunting and mumbling to himself, and noisily fumbled his way into his clothing. Trying to be quiet, and failing miserably. She fought the urge to smile. Once he was gone, Lian continued to feign sleep, slowly counting to one hundred in her head before she

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