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Mage Hunter: Episode 2: Sundered Shields
Mage Hunter: Episode 2: Sundered Shields
Mage Hunter: Episode 2: Sundered Shields
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Mage Hunter: Episode 2: Sundered Shields

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Sergeant Guthrie Hackett manages to find himself within the relative safety of his own Ursian countrymen, but an assault by the barbaric Dartague leaves more dead and wounded.

Setting off alone once more, this time in hopes of saving the captured captain of the northern Ursian militia, Guthrie learns there are more players behind the scenes. Eventually discovering a hidden Dartague encampment, the sergeant slinks around in hope of finding the captain. Before his search can come to a culmination, however, Guthrie discovers a truth about himself that might be more disturbing than anything he learns of the enemy.

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Now available

Mage Hunter: Blooded Snow
Mage Hunter: Sundered Shields
Mage Hunter: Bared Blades
Mage Hunter: Hammered Iron
Mage Hunter: Changeless Fate

LanguageEnglish
PublisherTy Johnston
Release dateOct 2, 2012
ISBN9781301450589
Mage Hunter: Episode 2: Sundered Shields
Author

Ty Johnston

Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

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    Book preview

    Mage Hunter - Ty Johnston

    MAGE HUNTER

    Sundered Shields

    The Ursian Chronicles

    by Ty Johnston

    a Monumental Works Group author

    visit the author’s website: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

    Copyright © 2012 Ty Johnston

    Cover artwork copyright © 2012 Ty Johnston

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher at htjohnston@yahoo.com.

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    for Tim,

    miss ya, guy

    1,913 years After Ashal (A.A.)

    Chapter 1

    The horses’ hooves pounded into snow, churning up the pale powder and chunks of dirt from beneath. Stretching in all directions was a sea of white with a gray sky above. The only break on the horizon ahead of the galloping animals was a grim line to the east where a copse of dead trees hugged one another. At distance behind the horses was a scorched circle littered with crumbled stones, a tail of smoke stretching up from the remains of what had once been a church to Ashal, the God Who Walked Among Men. Further back was another mass of rampaging steeds, these animals generally smaller in size but much larger in numbers. Beyond this second group of horses was more white, reaching back and back until finally coming up against the cold crags of mountains.

    The eleven horses in the lead carried men in armor of various types and conditions. The second group of steeds bore large, burly fellows in furs, swords swinging from their hips or gripped in their bulking hands.

    Sergeant Guthrie Hackett rode in the fore group, his breathing nearly as heavy as the tired beast beneath him. Through the slit of his helm, Guthrie glanced back, spotting the church and the barbarian riders beyond. He cursed as he looked forward once more. The Dartague were nearer, their steeds having shorter legs but more familiarity in charging through snow. The Ursian horses the sergeant and his comrades rode were better suited for open plains and roads, but did not fare so well in snow and mud.

    Beneath the Ursian horses was snow and mud. Thus the improving circumstances of the Dartague.

    A horse on his right moved closer, and Guthrie spared a glance in that direction. The rider nearing him was Captain Werner, the mustachioed leader of the ragtag militiamen the sergeant found himself riding among. Those same militiamen had saved Guthrie’s life, finding him in this winter wasteland after the sergeant’s squad had been brought down by Dartague arrows and an ice witch had attacked him personally. The Dartague had since spread slaughter across all of northern Ursia, word that the entire northern army had been wiped out flowing from mouth to mouth. The barbarians had numbers on their side, as well as those able to conjure with spells, and they did not balk at slaying Ursians wherever they found them.

    Which was why Guthrie and his band were fleeing the church destroyed by magic, Dartague riders fast on the Ursians’ tails.

    His steed nearly touching Guthrie’s own, Captain Werner leaned in closer to the sergeant, the officer’s long whisks of nose hair flapping in the wind. How many do you think there are? he shouted above the hammering sound of hooves and the snorts of the riding beasts.

    Guthrie dared a glance back again. The Dartague were too far away for an exact count, but he could make an estimate by the size of the pack of riders.At least fifty. Perhaps more.

    The captain grimaced. Not what I wanted to hear. His eyes shot forward, straying across the white flats before them. You know this land better than the rest of us. Anyplace to hide?

    Guthrie looked forward himself, staring and staring. He pointed. There! That group of trees. There’s an old creek bed runs through it.

    That’s no place to hide! Werner shouted.

    The sergeant shrugged. No, but there is no other. At least we can make a stand there. Better than being cut down in the open.

    Werner eyed the only break along the horizon. It seemed the sergeant was right. There was no place to hide, and no place else to make a stand. Even the church had been tumbled so much it was little more than blackened rubble. The captain sighed, the sound lost beneath the pounding hooves.

    All right! he called out. The trees it is, then!

    Guthrie nodded and the two riders parted, spreading word to the other men. Soon enough the eleven riders swung their horses toward the left and the gray, dead limbs sticking up from the snow in the distance.

    The breathing of the animals was growing

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