Dragontiarna: Defenders by Jonathan Moeller

Dragontiarna 2

Dragontiarna:Defenders by jonathan moeller
English | 2020| Fantasy| ePUB | 3.3 MB

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.
He has written the DEMONSOULED series of sword-and-sorcery novels, the TOWER OF ENDLESS WORLDS urban fantasy series, THE GHOSTS series about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the COMPUTER BEGINNER’S GUIDE sequence of computer books, and numerous other works.

The realm of Andomhaim reels beneath the invasion of Warlord Agravhask, and Ridmark stands in his path.
Ridmark knows that Agravhask is only the servant of the mighty Warden of Urd Morlemoch, and the realm must be ready to face its true foe.
But the Warden knows that Ridmark can stop him, and has dispatched the Heralds of Ruin to slay the Shield Knight.
Third of Nightmane Forest has seen the trap, and rushes to save her friend.
If she fails, the Warden and his dark Heralds will triumph, and darkness will swallow the world…

Ridmark reached the edge of the forest. The final dozen or so wagons and carts of the supply train rolled out of the forest and into the plain, the oxen and donkeys snorting, their drivers grumbling. The drivers complained because the road was terrible. Most of the traffic through the lands near Cintarra went along the coast road, floated on barges up the River Cintarra to the Lake of Battles, or along the roads on either bank of the river. Not that many merchants came to the kingdom of Khaluusk. The king and the orcs of Khaluusk were baptized and followed the authority of the High King, but they preferred to keep to themselves and discouraged visitors. For that matter, in ancient days, the Khaluuskan orcs had been known for eating their foes. Since they had accepted baptism, the Khaluuskan orcs no longer ate their fellow orcs or humans, but rumors persisted – and Ridmark knew for a fact they still hunted and ate kobolds.  But there was nowhere else for the High King’s army to go. Cintarra had fallen to the Heptarchy. The lands west of the River Cintarra were firmly in the hands of the Dragon Cult and their Mhorite and dvargir allies. Attempting to retreat east along the coast road to Taliand would expose the army to attacks from the sea. The Heptarchy had a mastery of sea warfare, as Agravhask had proven when his navy sailed into Cintarra’s harbor. If the army tried to withdraw along the coast road, the Heptarchy would have no difficulty landing a force in their path and blocking them. Withdrawing to Khaluusk was the only choice left to the High King. It was the best of the available options, but it also happened to be a good choice. Khaluusk was dotted by fortified towns that even the Heptarchy could not take easily. The army would be able to draw supplies and reinforcements from the rest of Andomhaim, and they could regroup and prepare for the campaign to retake Cintarra and defeat the Dragon Cult.  But Ridmark had been a knight long enough to know that battles never, ever went according to plan.  Fortunately, that was a sword with two edges. Agravhask had planned to seize Cintarra and wipe out the royal army of Andomhaim in a single day. He had conquered Cintarra, but the Anathgrimm had destroyed the forces the Warlord had sent to defeat the royal army.  Perhaps today they would ruin another of the Warlord’s plans. Ridmark looked at the trap.  Thirty Anathgrimm warriors stood hidden beneath the canopy of the trees, solemn and grim in their chain mail and plate. The Anathgrimm had the green skin of most orcish nations, but the mutations the Traveler had induced in their ancestors caused spikes of black bone to rise from their forearms, and masks of bone to conceal the upper half of their faces. The dense, dark bone of an Anathgrimm orc was far stronger than a human skeleton, and trying to kill an Anathgrimm warrior by crushing his skull or piercing his ribcage was often an exercise in futility. 

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