Troy: Lord Of The Silver Bow: (Troy: 1): A riveting, action-packed page-turner bringing an ancient myth and legend expertly to life - Softcover

Gemmell, David

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0552151114 ISBN 13: 9780552151115

Verlag: Transworld Publ. Ltd UK, 2006

Inhaltsangabe

A compelling, unputdownable novel of love and hatred, ambition and rivalry, peace and war by Sunday Times bestselling author David Gemmell. Perfect for fans of Simon Scarrow, Bernard Cornwell and Conn Iggulden. "History and legend combine in an epic recreation of the Troy myth" - CONN IGGULDEN "David Gemmell carries us away to a four-cornered, wholly convincing cosmos..." - STEVEN PRESSFIELD "What a masterly imagining of Bronze Age Greece" - ***** Reader review "The story is thrilling and once you start, you can not stop." -- ***** Reader review "Another epic novel that was impossible to put down." -- ***** Reader review ****************************************** Three lives will change the destiny of nations. Helikaon, the young prince of Dardania, haunted by a scarred and traumatic childhood. The priestess Andromache, whose fiery spirit and fierce independence threatens the might of kings. And the legendary warrior Argurios, cloaked in loneliness and driven only by thoughts of revenge. In Troy they find a city torn apart by destructive rivalries - a maelstrom of jealousy, deceit and murderous treachery. And beyond its fabled walls blood-hungry enemies eye its riches and plot its downfall. It is a time of bravery and betrayal; a time of bloodshed and fear. A time for heroes. The story continues in Troy: Shield of Thunder.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

David A. Gemmell's first novel, Legend, was first published in 1984 and went on to become a classic. His most recent Drenai and Rigante novels are available as Corgi paperbacks; all are Sunday Times bestsellers. Widely regarded as the finest writer of heroic fantasy, David Gemmell lived in Sussex until his death in July 2006.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

I

The Cave of Wings

THE TWELVE MEN, IN ANKLE-LENGTH CLOAKS OF BLACK WOOL, STOOD silently at the cave mouth. They did not speak or move. The early autumn wind was unnaturally chill, but they did not blow warm breath on cold hands. Moonlight shimmered on their bronze breastplates and white crested helmets, on their embossed wrist guards and greaves, and on the hilts of the short swords scabbarded at their waists. Yet despite the presence of cold metal against their bodies they did not shiver.

The night grew colder, and it began to rain as midnight approached. Hail fell, and clattered against their armour. And still they did not move.

Then came another warrior, tall and stooping, his cloak flapping in the fierce wind. He too was armoured, though his cuirass was inlaid with gold and silver, as were the helmet and greaves he wore.

'Is he inside?' he asked, his voice deep.

'Yes, my king,' answered one of the men, tall and broadshouldered, with deep-set grey eyes. 'He will summon us when the gods speak.'

'Then we wait,' replied Agamemnon.

The rain eased away and the king's dark eyes scanned his Followers. Then he looked into the Cave of Wings. Deep within he could see firelight flickering on the craggy walls, and even from here smell the acrid and intoxicating fumes from the Prophecy Fire. As he watched, the fire dimmed.

Unused to waiting, he felt his anger rise, but masked it. Even a king was expected to be humble in the presence of the gods.

Every four years the king of Mykene and twelve of his most trusted Followers were expected to hear the words of the gods. The last time Agamemnon had stood here he had just interred his father and his own reign was about to begin. He had been nervous then, but was more so now. For the prophecies he had heard that first time had come true. He had become infinitely richer. His wife had borne him three healthy children, though all girls. The armies of Mykene had been victorious in every battle, and a great hero had fallen.

But Agamemnon also recalled the journey his father had made to the Cave of Wings eight years previously, and his ashen face on his return. He would not speak of the final prophecy, but one of the Followers told it to his wife, and the word spread. The seer had concluded with the words: 'Farewell, Atreus King. You will not walk the Cave of Wings again.'

The great battle king had died one week before the next Summoning.

A woman dressed all in black emerged from the cave. Even her head was covered by a veil of gauze. She did not speak, but raised her hand, beckoning the waiting men. Agamemnon took a deep breath, and led the group inside.

The entrance was narrow, and they removed their crested helmets and followed the woman in single file, until at last they reached the remains of the Prophecy Fire. Smoke still hung in the air and, as he breathed, Agamemnon felt his heart beating faster. Colours became brighter and small sounds - the creaking of leather, the shifting of sandalled feet on stone - were louder, almost threatening.

The ritual was hundreds of years old, based on an ancient belief that only on the point of death could a priest fully commune with the gods. So every four years a man was chosen to die for the sake of the king.

Keeping his breathing shallow, Agamemnon looked down at the slender old man lying on a pallet bed. His face was pale in the firelight, his eyes wide and staring. The hemlock paralysis had already begun. He would be dead within minutes.

Agamemnon waited.

'Fire in the sky,' said the priest, 'and a mountain of water touching the clouds. Beware the Great Horse, Agamemnon King.' The old man sagged back, and the woman in black knelt by him, lifting and supporting his frail body.

'Offer me no riddles,' said Agamemnon. 'What of the kingdom? What of the might of the Mykene?'

The priest's eyes briefly blazed, and Agamemnon saw anger there. Then it passed, and the old man smiled. 'Your will prevails here, O king. I would have offered you a forest of truth, but you wish to speak of a single leaf. Very well. Mighty still will you be when next you walk this corridor of stone. Father to a son.' He whispered something then to the woman, who held a cup of water to his lips.

'And what dangers will I face?' Agamemnon asked.

The old priest's body spasmed, and he cried out. Then he relaxed and stared up at the king. 'A ruler is always in peril, Agamemnon King. Unless he be strong he will be torn down. Unless he be wise he will be overthrown. The seeds of doom are planted in every season, and need neither sun nor rain to make them grow. You sent a hero to end a small threat, and thus you planted the seeds. Now they grow, and swords will spring from the earth.'

'You speak of Alektruon. He was my friend.'

'He was no man's friend! He was a slaughterer and did not heed the warnings. He trusted in his cunning, his cruelty and his might. Poor blind Alektruon. Now he knows the magnitude of his error. Arrogance laid him low, for no man is invincible. Those the gods would destroy they first make proud.'

'What more have you seen?' said Agamemnon. 'Speak now! Death is upon you.'

'I have no fear of death, King of Swords, King of Blood, King of Plunder. You will live for ever, Agamemnon, in the hearts and minds of men. When your father's name has fallen to dust and whispered away on the winds of time, yours will be spoken loud and often. When your line is a memory, and all kingdoms come to ashes, still your name will echo. This I have seen.'

'This is more to my liking,' said the king. 'What else? Be swift now, for your time is short. Give a name to the greatest danger I will face. '

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Transworld Publ. Ltd UK
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2006
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0552151114
• ISBN 13: 9780552151115
• Einband: Libro de bolsillo
• Anzahl der Seiten: 640
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Terminal Video; n.pederzini@terminaldistribuzione.com; ; Via Bruno Buozzi, 24/26,; Granarolo dell'Emilia BO,; Italien