Horror

Aftermath (The Remaining, Book 2) by D. J. Molles

By D. J. Molles

To Captain Lee Harden, venture homeland appears like a far off dream and the finishing touch of his undertaking turns out unattainable.
Wounded and weaponless, he has stumbled upon a bunch of survivors that turns out prepared to aid. yet a tragedy within the crew reasons a deep rift to return to mild and forces him into motion. within the chaos of the area open air, Lee is pursued via a brand new probability: anyone who will cease at not anything to get what he has.

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Extra resources for Aftermath (The Remaining, Book 2)

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Bish­op San­sum, whom God must bless above all the saints liv­ing and dead, says these mem­ories should be cast in­to the bot­tom­less pit with all the oth­er filth of fall­en mankind, for these are the tales of the last days be­fore the great dark­ness de­scend­ed on the light of our Lord Je­sus Christ. These are the tales of the land we call Llo­egyr, which means the Lost Lands, the coun­try that was once ours but which our en­emies now call Eng­land. These are the tales of Arthur, the War­lord, the King that Nev­er Was, the En­emy of God and, may the liv­ing Christ and Bish­op San­sum for­give me, the best man I ev­er knew.

Then I dropped to the floor and hid be­hind the wick­er chests that held the feast­ing cloths. One of Nor­wen­na's slaves saw my ar­rival, and prob­ably some of Gundleus's men did too, but no one cared enough to eject me. Nor­wen­na was sit­ting on a wood­en chair in the hall's cen­tre. The wid­owed Princess was no beau­ty: her face was moon round with small pig­gish eyes and a thin, sour-​lipped mouth and skin that had been pocked by some child­hood dis­ease, but none of that mat­tered. Great men do not mar­ry princess­es for their looks, but for the pow­er they bring in their dowries.

And I turned and start­ed back up the hill while around me a pack of Mer­lin's or­phans scram­bled through the snow. They were car­ry­ing kitchen pots which they clashed to­geth­er as they ran, though when the slope grew too steep and treach­er­ous they were forced to hurl the pots on ahead and scram­ble up be­hind. Mor­gan fol­lowed more slow­ly, at­tend­ed by her slave Se­bile who car­ried the nec­es­sary charms and herbs. " Mor­gan called up to me. ” I shout­ed breath­less­ly as I scram­bled through the gate­way.

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