The Other Crowd
In a remote part of Ireland, two archaeological teams dig for the find of a lifetime–the legendary Spear of Lugh. Folklore claims the magical weapon was forged in the time of the ancient Tuatha de Danaan. But as the search intensifies, people begin disappearing from the dig. "Faeries," whisper the locals. The Other Crowd…Instructed to travel to Ireland and return with faerie footage, archaeologist Annja Creed figures it's a joke assignment. But people have vanished and she soon realizes there's more in play than mythical wee folk. With the unsettling notion that something otherworldly is in the air, Annja is torn between her roles as an archaeologist and a warrior. But can her powerful sword protect her from the threat of violence…or the Other Crowd?
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âTheyâre hereâ¦â
Annja felt the breeze that moved her ponytail from in front of her shoulder to her back.
Then she paused.
There was no breeze.
She must have moved, flipped her hair over her shoulder with a jerk of her head. It was the only thing that made sense. Until a strange flutter made her look down.
She didnât know what was causing her sudden nervousness, or making her hear things.
It had to be an insect. It had sounded like that, like wings fluttering.
âJust a bug,â she whispered.
A male cry of pain alerted her. She heard a body hit the dirt and the clatter of the plastic-encased camera followed.
âEric,â she whispered.
Footsteps crunched. Those were not Ericâs rubber-soled Vans.
Sucking in a deep breath, Annja calmed her racing heartbeat.
She swept out her right hand. Looking into the otherwhere, she opened her fingers and closed them around her battle sword.
Slapping her left hand to the hilt, she prepared to meet whatever was coming around the cornerâ¦.
Titles in this series:
Destiny
Solomonâs Jar
The Spider Stone
The Chosen
Forbidden City
The Lost Scrolls
God of Thunder
Secret of the Slaves
Warrior Spirit
Serpentâs Kiss
Provenance
The Soul Stealer
Gabrielâs Horn
The Golden Elephant
Swordsmanâs Legacy
Polar Quest
Eternal Journey
Sacrifice
Seekerâs Curse
Footprints
Paradox
The Spirit Banner
Sacred Ground
The Bone Conjurer
Tribal Ways
The Dragonâs Mark
Phantom Prospect
False Horizon
The Other Crowd
Rogue Angel>â¢
The Legend
â¦THE ENGLISH COMMANDER TOOK JOANâS SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.
The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.
Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.
Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are rebornâ¦.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
1
Her forged steel battle sword clanked against an iron-plated chest cuirass. The shock of connection had ceased to clatter up her arms and vibrate in her molars. Over the course of the day, sheâd become physically numb to violence, to blood.
To her faith.
No, she still clung to faith, to blind trust and humble servitude. It was all she had.
A thunderous warriorâs cry from behind her prompted her to spin about. Slick mud made footing unsure. The soles of her laced leather boots had worn thin; she could gauge the rises and fall of earth with a mere flex of foot. She maintained balance.
With no time to deliver an overhand slash of her sword, she plunged it up into the charging soldierâs gut. The blade slid under her enemyâs bloodied leather cuirass. She felt the soft acceptance as the sword tip sunk into flesh. The soul had been pierced. May God have mercy.
Blood purled down the flat of the blade. Her victimâs triumphant cry changed to a gurgling requiem. A mace glinting with the blood of her fellow soldiers fell from his limp grasp. For a moment he loomed before her in the rain, arms spread, yet hands limp. Mouth open and eyes horrifically wide. Poised between life and death.
As a child she had enjoyed playing in the rain. The world would never again be so carefree.
A heel to his thigh pushed his body off balance. He dropped backward. Mud droplets spattered his face and her leg greaves.
Death proved far too easy.
The violet sky briefly teased at the corner of her eye where mud did not blemish her vision. Too pretty for battle. It promised an end to the abominable weather. A rainbow was swirled in an oily slick before the castle wall.
âJeanne!â
The familiar voice cut through the cacophony of warfare. Lieutenant Charlier. Just last night his wife had birthed a baby boy who was not breathing. The lieutenant mourned as a black cloud had entered his life. The child had not been baptized before burial, which Jeanne had protested until her throat ached. Now the lieutenant signaled and she followed him. He did not see the English infantryman swinging a deadly halberd behind him.
âNo!â She rushed across the battlefield, slick with blood and mud.
A body lay between her and the lieutenant. In the moment Jeanne took to look down and leap over the sprawled enemy corpse, the tip of the armor-piercing halberd poked out from the lieutenantâs chest. His arms flung backward as his torso curved unnaturally forward.
She swung madly, utilizing no martial skill save a fierce determination honed over the past months. Lieutenant Charlier was dead before his palms hit the ground.
