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    Furious Host: Eald Cearo: Demon Forged, #3
    Furious Host: Eald Cearo: Demon Forged, #3
    Furious Host: Eald Cearo: Demon Forged, #3
    Ebook85 pages1 hour

    Furious Host: Eald Cearo: Demon Forged, #3

    By Lee Donoghue

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    About this ebook

    For I am Anger: I’m smashing your dreams, now obey your master.

    You’ll love this dark fantasy novella because the fight against evil takes place both within and without.

    Orlaith Ciardha has been searching for redemption ever since fleeing the crimes she committed in Sorrow’s name.

    She is pulled into a desperate struggle for power as immortals rage against the natural world. Her choices will not only change her forever, but mean the difference between light and dark across the lands.

    In this dramatic conclusion to the series, will her choice between penance and sacrifice set her free or condemn the lands to darker night?

    Pick up this page-turner today!

    Furious Host is the final novella (21,000 words) in the Demon Forged series. Look for it under Dark Fantasy.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAdumbral Press
    Release dateFeb 7, 2018
    ISBN9781386001843
    Furious Host: Eald Cearo: Demon Forged, #3

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      Book preview

      Furious Host - Lee Donoghue

      Furious HostSins Of Ages

      And on the seventh night, Elias Reymes awoke to thunder. As he gathered his wits in the dark, he recognised that thunder; it became an incessant rap at his front door. It was a sound he had been dreading.

      He eased his stiff old joints out of bed, lighting a candle to cast a warming glow around his private room, the shadows flitting like ghosts upon his walls. The knocking continued, insistent; Elias heard an anger in its demands.

      He reminded himself of who he was and deliberately slowed. They could wait; he had rushed for them enough over the years.

      Rubbing his eyes, he sighed and dressed in the deep blue of his formal attire. His chain of office came last: the copper links of a steward. He wore that chain as he wore his duty; over time it had grown heavy and wearied him. Where had the respect gone?

      He opened his door to the townsfolk of Farlow, led by Thomas the baker. Thomas pushed his fat body through into his modest home without invitation, followed by the half dozen others coming in from the rain.

      ‘Well? What are you going to do about them?’ the baker demanded, as he shook the wet from his cloak.

      ‘Ah Thomas, so you need me to handle them.’ Elias shrugged. ‘Mayhap they will grow tired of Farlow soon and move on.’

      ‘Is this your plan? They have been here days and nights and they are not the holy men they purport to be. Are you not steward? It is your charge to keep the townsfolk safe.’ Elias hadn’t noticed the baker’s agitation to begin with - now he saw it clearly in his clenched jaw, his balled fists.

      ‘That it is,’ Elias conceded. He could still protect this small town, even as age weighed on him: decades of heroics were not readily forgotten. Yet they never understood his sacrifices, never appreciated his valour. They were the lazy, and he might have them work for his help this time. ‘I am only one. Need we beseech Sir Hyden for aid?’ The very thought of the man chilled him almost as much as he knew it would them.

      A murmur of discontent arose from those assembled. Thomas shook his jowls. ‘No, no. This is town business. We do not want to bring his attention here. It is your business.’ He jabbed a stubby finger into the old man’s chest. It hurt.

      Elias glanced around at the faces of the deputation, all nodding in agreement with their spokesman. They were cowards, every one of them, for leaving this to him. How did he ever think them worthy of his protection? Yet perhaps he was more craven than most, for he also tasted fear of their unwanted visitors while priding himself a hero. The feeling was unsettling - he used to act with abandon and relish the bloodshed it brought.

      ‘Fine. I shall hurry them along. As you say, it is town business.’

      ‘Tonight. You must do this tonight, Steward.’ Thomas stared down at him, his chins folding against his cloak clasp. The others crowded close as if to add insistence to the baker’s demands. He acts as though he owns this place. They are nothing without me.

      Despite his misgivings, Elias found himself nodding. The tension of the delegation eased, and they filed out into the downpour, a satisfied grumble going between them. The baker left last, and at the threshold he paused. ‘Good luck, Steward,’ he said before disappearing into the night.

      Elias closed his door on the weather and rested against it as his stomach knotted. Once more he was to stride into defence of the town. How he envied them their warm beds tonight.

      He shrugged his nagging doubts aside. His thoughts circled his disquiet about what lay ahead and the hope it offered. It was long since they had last called upon him, but he had kept them safe before and could again. It would remind them of the hero who chose to live in their midst; the golden days might return.

      He had known the strangers were trouble when they rode into Farlow a week before. All seven had cantered through the throng gathering to note their arrival. Elias had been among the crowd, and the horsemen stopped before him, looking at his steward’s dress and smirking at him - at him! - from behind untamed beards. They had the look of typical travellers in the region; weatherworn and desperate. Yet there was something else, something cruel about their swarthy looks. They warned of violence against the unwary, had the touch of outlaw about them.

      Their stallions were snorting with the effort of a long hard ride. They bucked from side to side, though the rider at the head of the gang remained focused on the steward. His dark matted hair framed a thin face, his sneer revealing broken teeth. ‘This is our place for now, old man. Be sure we get our way, and we shall return it to you with no harm done.’

      ‘This is the town of Farlow, under the protection of Sir Hyden Rosik. I am steward here. Comply with law and you will not be bothered.’ Elias’s voice sounded weak in his own ears, and he hated that.

      The traveller spat from his saddle, fingering a silver five-pointed star hanging around his neck as if it should have meaning for Elias. ‘You know we are beyond your law. I advise you to let us be.’

      ‘Have you not heard of Sir Hyden? He is not one to trifle with, boys.’ I am not one to trifle with.

      ‘Have you not heard of Gabel Leilo of the Vermafta Sect? Come at us, and you shall wish the name remained foreign to your ear.’ Gabel walked his horse forward as he spoke, forcing Elias to step back out of its path. The steward looked into Gabel’s iron eyes and quailed. He had no retort, his heart flushing fear through his aged veins. With a final smirk, Gabel turned his stallion and led the six along the main trail, towards the Riverbeck Inn.

      His courage returning, Elias promised their backs a lesson in humility. You do not know who you deal with. You shall. In his prime, he had often stood up to whoresons like these. That was many seasons ago, but was he not Farlow’s saviour still?

      As the sun crawled its way across the autumn sky, the reports

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