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The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy. Peter V. BrettЧитать онлайн книгу.

The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy - Peter V. Brett


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Chapter 8: To the Free Cities Chapter 9: Fort Miln Section II Chapter 10: Apprentice Chapter 11: Breach Chapter 12: Library Chapter 13: There Must Be More Chapter 14: The Road to Angiers Chapter 15: Fiddle Me a Fortune Chapter 16: Attachments Section III Chapter 17: Ruins Chapter 18: Rite of Passage Chapter 19: The First Warrior of Krasia Chapter 20: Alagai´sharak Chapter 21: Only a Chin Chapter 22: Play the Hamlets Chapter 23: Rebirth Chapter 24: Needles and Ink Section IV Chapter 25: A New Venue Chapter 26: Hospit Chapter 27: Nightfall Chapter 28: Secrets Chapter 29: In the Pre-dawn Light Chapter 30: Plague Chapter 31: The Battle of Cutter´s Hollow Chapter 32: Cutter´s No More Acknowledgements

       Map

       Section I

       TIBBET’S BROOK

      319

       After the Return

       1

       Aftermath

      319 AR

      The great horn sounded.

      Arlen paused in his work, looking up at the lavender wash of the dawn sky. Mist still clung to the air, bringing with it a damp, acrid taste that was all too familiar. A quiet dread built in his gut as he waited in the morning stillness, hoping that it had been his imagination. He was eleven years old.

      There was a pause, and then the horn blew twice in rapid succession. One long and two short meant south and east. The Cluster by the Woods. His father had friends amongst the Cutters. Behind Arlen, the door to the house opened, and he knew his mother would be there, covering her mouth with both hands.

      Arlen returned to his work, not needing to be told to hurry. Some chores could wait a day, but the stock still needed to be fed and the cows milked. He left the animals in the barns and opened the hay stores, slopped the pigs, and ran to fetch a wooden milk bucket. His mother was already squatting beneath the first of the cows. He snatched the spare stool and they found cadence in their work, the sound of milk striking wood drumming a funeral march.

      As they moved to the next pair down


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