Devlin of Duncaer is the Chosen One, champion of the Kingdom of Jorsk. A simple metalsmith and farmer turned warrior, he has become the most unlikely of heroes to the conquerors of his own people, the Caerfolk. Yet there is a growing faction of Jorskians who believe that if he were truly anointed as Chosen One by the Gods, then the immortals would have given him the Sword of Light as proof of his calling.
Missing for generations, the sword is more myth than reality. But Devlin knows where to find it. Lost in battle after the Jorskians’ brutal massacre of Caerfolk, it has remained in Duncaer, a souvenir of one of the land’s darkest days.
Feeling more than ever a pawn of fate—and a plaything of the Gods who drive him—Devlin must return to the land of his birth, back to the people who have denounced him. For he is bound by an oath he has no choice but to obey...a promise he may have to die to keep.
From the Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: Devlin's Honor|
|Release Date: 12-18-2007|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Random House Publishing Group|
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|Parent title||Devlin's Honor|
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Devlin of Duncaer, Chosen One of the Gods, Defender of the Realm, Personal Champion of King Olafur, King's councilor, and General of the Royal Army, muttered to himself as he strode through the corridors of the palace. The few folk who saw him took one look at his face and discovered urgent business elsewhere. It was not just his appearance that gave them pause, though his green eyes and black hair-now streaked with white-marked him as a stranger here: the first of the Caerfolk to enter into the service of their conquerors. Rather it was his reputation they fled, for it was well-known that the Chosen One had little patience for fools, and his power made him an enemy few wished to have.
As Devlin reached the chambers that served as his offices, the guard on duty took one look at his face and swiftly opened the door, forgoing the formal salute. Devlin slammed the door shut behind him.
Lieutenant Didrik looked up from his papers. "The council meeting went as expected?"
Nearly four months ago, when Devlin had been named General of the Army, Lieutenant Didrik had been detached from the City Guard to serve as Devlin's aide. Some thought the lieutenant too young for the task, but his age was offset by his proven loyalty and friendship. And Lieutenant Didrik knew him well enough to know when Devlin was truly angry and when he was merely frustrated, as now.
"The council sits and talks and does nothing," Devlin said, unbuttoning the stiff collar of his court uniform. "And the folk in the palace flee like frightened sheep whenever they catch a glimpse of me."
Lieutenant Didrik nodded. "It would be easier