About The Living Sword 3: The Burden of Legacy:
Leraine has finally returned home, but the welcome is not as she imagined it. Tension is rising within the Mochedan Federation as many advocate for an end to the long peace and a return to the glory of war.
She sets off to the most important festival of the Mochedan, hoping to preserve the peace for at least a little while longer. Eurik joins her, to help his friend and to finally find the answers about his parents he’s been chasing since he left the island.
What they find is theft, murder, and a conspiracy to end their world.
Excerpt:
“I’ve noticed you never go for a grapple,” she said.
Rock grunted as she put the squeeze on. He resorted to Linese. “San . . . don’t have bones. This . . . wouldn’t work . . . on one of them.”
Suddenly, the give was gone. It was like she was wrestling a tree, or a stone. He pulled his arm in and got up with Leraine still hanging off him. “Was actually a problem when they started teaching me.”
“Do tell,” Leraine said as she let go with her hands to reach for the ground. With her legs still clutching Rock, she now hung upside down. Rock hadn’t straightened out yet so she could actually get her hands flat on the sandy ground to try and knock him over again.
But it was no use. With that stone magic flowing through his body, it truly was like wrestling a tree. So Leraine let go entirely and got out of Rock’s range with a flip. He stomped forward, his stance solid and rigid.
“You normally start the Ways with Course of the River, but I simply couldn’t make the connection. Or bend my limbs enough,” he said as he flicked his hand out. A puff of sand flew into Leraine’s face, blinding her.
Her hands moved automatically through Six Fangs Strike, reacting to sounds she could barely hear even in the silence of the ring. It shouldn’t be this quiet. The technique didn’t quite work, her fingers just about buckled even when they struck pressure points on Rock’s arms, chest, and neck. But he still backed off, his foot scraping over the ground.
Moving to the side, she wiped the grit out of her eyes. “Sneaky. I approve.”
“I wouldn’t want to insult my host by not giving it my all.”
“Then I shall do the same,” Leraine said, pulling a training spear from the nearby rack and lunging at Rock.
She was still blinking some sand out of her eyes—his face was a blurry mess—but the jerky movement with which he backed off told her enough. Leraine pressed forward with quick thrusts, only for her fifth strike to hit a plate of stone that shot up from the ground.
The ground around her right foot stirring was her only warning. It gave way and with most of her weight on that leg, it was hard to get out. She resorted to striking the ground with the butt of her spear and using that to lever herself out of the trap.
Leraine didn’t stay still but circled around. “I thought you were not going to stir the earth.”
“I thought you said you were the weapon.”
“I got five coppers on Silver Fang,” Misthell shouted from his spot against a post. “Three to one odds. Who’ll take me up?”
“Misthell, aren’t you supposed to be rooting for me. And what’s with those odds?”
“Sorry Eu—I mean, Rock. Silver Fang has the victory spirit and I have to go with the victor or I’ll lose the bet.”
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About Pemry Janes:
