Dahomey was the land of poisons and serpents and subtlety.
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The lashing washes had swamped the main deck and crewmen clung to ropes to keep from going overboard…. The Medium began to churn within her…Water splashed across her face.
Foam hissed like ten thousand serpents. While there is no argument that Wheeler is a great storyteller, one hopes that he will seek professional editing for his next project and continue to share the creations that spring from the heart of his imagination. Reviewed by Lee Gooden April 27, Disclosure: This article is not an endorsement, but a review.
The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood, #3) by Jeff Wheeler
The author of this book provided free copies of the book and paid a small fee to have their book reviewed by a professional reviewer. Foreword Reviews and Clarion Reviews make no guarantee that the author will receive a positive review. Of the Three Blessed Kings of Pry-Ree, he was the wisest, the youngest, and the most worthy to rule them all. Which is why the others had already been assassinated, leaving his brother and nephew as co-rulers — neither of whom were mastons or very wise. Digging into the pouch, the Prince removed a small globe made of refined aurichalcum.
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It glimmered in the shadows, which made Martin impatient, wondering if anyone skulking in the woods would see it. Staring at the orb, the Prince watched as the spindles set in the upper half began to whirl and spin. Writing appeared in the lower half of the orb. Martin squinted at the tiny markings that only mastons could read.
The Blight of Muirwood Book reviews
He looked furtively at the road ahead, his face more serious than before. His voice was soft with warning.
The orb bids me west. Send them on after we are gone. You ride with me, Martin. Send the rest on to Muirwood. The Prince did not hesitate after that. Furious, Martin hissed orders and a warning to the rest of the Evnissyen guard and then rode hard after the Prince.
The trees whipped and slashed him as he fought to keep up.
The Scourge of Muirwood
The thrill of the chase burned in his stomach. Draw the kishion after them in the moors. Throw him off his original plan — make him react to their movements. The kishion was being careless.
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Not long after charging into the woods, Martin heard the crack of limbs, the thud of hooves from behind. The pay must be considerable for the kishion to risk being so noisy. Martin slowed his beast slightly, listening. The sound of pursuit was gaining on him. Grabbing his bow, he shrugged his boot out of the stirrup and flung himself off the horse, rolling into the mud and muck and then flattening himself against a stunted oak tree. Muddy water dripped down his face and he brushed it away with his hand, cursing. He had an arrow nocked and darted past several other trees, back-tracking.