Wolfbreed - Softcover

Swann, S. A.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0553807382 ISBN 13: 9780553807387

Verlag: Spectra, 2009

Inhaltsangabe

In this captivating reinvention of the werewolf novel, S. A. Swann propels readers into the darkest days of the Middle Ages, weaving a rare blend of soaring romance, historical intrigue, paranormal thrills, and spiritual questioning to tell a story that forever changes those who hear it.

When a monk inadvertently discovers a lair of werewolf young, he unleashes what will become the Church’s most powerful—and secret—weapon. Clandestinely raised by the Teutonic Order, these lupine creatures serve as instruments of God against pagan unbelievers. Trained to slip into villages cloaked in human form, they are all but unstoppable. Only one, called Lilly, has cunningly fled her brutal master.

Uldolf is too young to remember the massacre eight years earlier that claimed his village, his arm, and his kin. But he knows the pain of loneliness. When he sees what appears to be a beautiful young woman, injured and cowering in the woods, he races to her aid. Uldolf and his adoptive family will do anything to protect the terrified girl, but the danger is greater than they can possibly imagine. For death is the only life Lilly has ever known—and if their humanity can’t pierce the darkness Lilly harbors in her soul, they’ll soon come to know it, too.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

S. A. Swann grew up and still lives in the Northeastern Ohio area, along with three cats, two dogs, a pair of goats, a horse, and one overworked spouse.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One


"Please?"

Manfried Hartmann did his best to ignore the voice that came from behind the heavy oak door. He stood at attention, on the opposite end of the corridor, shivering slightly. Even with his mail shirt and the padding underneath, he was still chilled by the damp, mildew-thick air.

But maybe chilled even more by the pathetic weakness of the woman's voice coming from the cell he was guarding.

It was hard not to see this guard duty as anything more than a punishment detail. Perhaps, in a more charitable moment, he could think of it as a form of mortification, his Teutonic masters seeing to it that his soul was purified through labor and obedience. Still, despite what the sergeant might say about "prisoners of a certain status," there was little about this that Manfried could see as particularly elevating. He certainly didn't feel any closer to God in this hole.

If he brought up the subject with one of the priests, or-Lord help him-one of the knights of the Order, Manfried knew from long and onerous experience that the answer he would get would involve prayer, penitence, and probably a long meditation on their Lord's suffering on the cross.

But, by God, if he wanted to say that many Pater Nosters he would have stayed in Lübeck and joined a monastery.

This wasn't to say that he hadn't spent five nights down here as a heathen, his back to God. But expecting a soldier to spend the entire night from Compline to Prime in silent contemplation of Christ was expecting a bit much.

A bit much, especially with a young woman's voice pleading with him. And thanks to this woman's keeper-province commander of the Teutonic Order, Landkomtur Erhard von Stendal-and his commandments not to talk to, or even look at, the prisoner, the boredom was maddening.

"Sir? Just a word? Some water?"

Perhaps the knights of the Order thought their soldiers would fear Hell more if they allowed them a foretaste.

This was not why Manfried had made the trek north. As the third son of a minor landgrave-very minor-he had only martial skills to trade upon. He had come to the wilds of Prûsa as a soldier of Christendom, to defend the church and win new lands and peoples to the way of Christ.

He told his mother that he would bring home honor for his family name, and possibly gain his own estate in the newly Christian lands of Prûsa. He had not thought his crusade might end in this dank corridor, breathing niter and mold, listening to the echoed pleas of some pagan prisoner. However, by the grace of God, here he was, standing in the bowels of a keep in a town that had honored the cross for eight years now, guarding a woman who barely had the energy to speak.

He wondered at what point he had annoyed God so much as to deserve this fate.

"Sir?" Her voice was weaker this time.

Even though he had been left here, grating under the command of the Prûsan converts left to man this keep, Manfried did know enough to remain obedient. While he had not taken the oaths of a religious order, and was absolved-by law if not by circumstance-from the binds of chastity and poverty, he was still bound by the tenet of obedience. Fealty was expected of all in service to the Order; priest and knight, serf and slave, religious and secular.

He was not to converse with the prisoner or approach the door.

Why this was so was none of his concern. He knew nothing of the prisoner other than rumors. All he really knew of her was her voice. He was never present to see anyone else approach the cell door to see that the prisoner was fed, or exercised, or questioned. He simply changed places with one man at Compline and with another upon leaving at Prime.

Her voice was quite young, just barely a woman's. It was also painfully dry, cracked, and becoming weaker with each passing day.

Manfried thought of his own sister, barely two years his junior.

The prisoner is probably her age…
Just the thought-comparing the unknown, unnamed woman to his younger sister-made him feel a sickness in his soul as black as the mold growing on the stone floor.

What has she done to place her here? Someone's sister? Someone's daughter?

This seemed unnecessary, even for a pagan. If the woman did not accept baptism, she should be granted death, or sold to some estate where she might be put to useful work. Abandoning her here seemed cruel and pointless.

There were the rumors, of course. Even though the Order frowned on gossip, some sins were just too minor to expend the effort to expunge.

Manfried had heard from several men who claimed to have talked to members of Landkomtur Erhard's retinue. The provincial commander had been en route northeast, toward Balga, pausing here in the fortified town of Johannisburg to leave this woman in the care of this garrison. Everyone agreed that this was not originally Erhard's intent, as he was supposedly joining forces that were massing for a spring assault in the wilds north of Warmia.

The general belief was that Landkomtur Erhard had been called back to Marienwerder to meet with the Landmeister of Prûsa.

As to the girl he had left, theories abounded. Many thought that she was some barbarian princess, taken as hostage to assure that some pagan duke or captain took his baptism seriously. Others thought that she was being taken as some bribe to encourage one tribe against another-since, unlike the Infidel in the Holy Land, the pagan tribes inflicted wars as savage on each other as they did upon the lands of Christendom. Yet others thought that she was a reward for some great landed knight who had donated land or men to the Order's mission.

Erhard's command not to speak to or approach the girl inspired other rumors: she was such a beauty that any man who viewed her would be instantly seduced and forced to free her; she was so hideous that she might strike a man dead with a look; perhaps she was rich enough to offer bribes or other favors.

The last one, Manfried thought, would be high on Landkomtur Erhard's list of concerns. The knights of the Order were as concerned for the virtue of their servants as they were for their own. And while they did not force secular soldiers to emulate their brothers and sleep in common rooms that were perpetually lit to prevent the concealment of sin, they did pay close attention to their conduct.

Many of the men left in this garrison were converts, only a few years Christian, and probably more than likely to accept, or simply take by force, such inappropriate favors.

Such men did not take boredom well.

After a moment, Manfried reproached himself for feeling such concerns. This woman was some unchristian pagan, serf or slave, unbaptized and unworthy of such worries.

Also, these thoughts only served to increase his sense of unease. Developing sympathy for his prisoner was akin to showing mercy on the battlefield. He was a soldier. He had a duty. He had come here to serve God and the Order.

But down here, he didn't feel very close to God at all. He could be righteous facing a pagan army that slaughtered priests and burned churches-but a single girl?

He whispered a Pater Noster for strength of spirit.

When he finished, the words sed libera nos a Malo died in the still, fetid air, leaving silence behind.

The silence continued.

"What?" he whispered, instead of "Amen."

There was no answer; not even a whimper from behind the banded oak door that he was not permitted to approach.

His unease deepened. No one had told him what crimes this prisoner may have committed, or why she was so important. Only that, according to Landkomtur Erhard and Manfried's Prûsan sergeant, this was the most important post he would...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Spectra
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2009
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0553807382
• ISBN 13: 9780553807387
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 400
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar