The Burning Land: A Novel (Saxon Tales)
The 5th installment of Bernard Cornwell’s bestselling Saxon stories chronicling the epic saga of the making of britain, “like video game of Thrones, yet genuine” (The Observer, London)—the foundation for The final Kingdom, the hit BBC the US tv series.
At the top of the 9th century, King Alfred of Wessex is in in poor health health and wellbeing; his inheritor, an untested formative years. His enemy, the Danes, having didn't triumph over Wessex, now see their likelihood for victory. Led through the sword of savage warrior Harald Bloodhair, the Viking hordes assault. yet Uhtred, Alfred’s reluctant warlord, proves his worthy, outwitting Harald and handing the Vikings one in all their maximum defeats.
For Uhtred, the wonder of victory is quickly overshadowed by means of tragedy. Breaking with Alfred, he joins the Vikings, swearing by no means back to serve the Saxon king. as an alternative, he'll reclaim his ancestral fort at the Northumbrian coast. Allied along with his previous buddy Ragnar-and his outdated foe Haesten-he goals to invade and triumph over Wessex itself. yet destiny has varied plans . . .
In The Burning Land, Bernard Cornwell, “the reigning king of historic fiction” (USA Today), gives you a rousing saga of Anglo-Saxon England-an impossible to resist new bankruptcy in his exciting Saxon stories, the epic tale of the beginning of britain and the mythical king who made it possible.
Writhed and screeched. considered one of her guards was once sporting the mail coat she have been donning in conflict, leaving her in a linen shift that she all of sudden ripped open to reveal her breasts. She smeared earth on her breasts and that i needed to smile as Edward, beside his father, stared wide-eyed at Skade’s nakedness. Alfred appeared much more pained. “Silence her,” he ordered. one of many Mercian guards cracked a spear pole throughout her cranium and Skade fell sideways onto the road. there has been blood combined with the.
Straightened. “I’m no longer a idiot, Lord Uhtred.” “I by no means notion so,” I stated. “You needs to educate me,” he stated. “Teach you?” He waved on the carnage and, for a heartbeat, regarded horrified. “How you do this,” he blurted out. “You imagine like your enemy, lord,” I stated, “and then you definately imagine harder.” i'd have stated extra, yet simply then I observed Cerdic in an alley among cottages. I part grew to become, then was once distracted by way of Bishop Asser sternly calling Edward away, and whilst I regarded again there has been no.
My reminiscence there has been simply silence at that second. until Æthelflæd spoke. “Lord?” She had come shut and used to be looking at me. “Uhtred?” she acknowledged lightly. Finan used to be a few paces in the back of her, and with him was once Cerdic, and that was once whilst I knew. I knew, yet I acknowledged not anything, and Æthelflæd walked to me and laid a hand on my arm. “Uhtred?” she stated back. i believe I simply stared into her face. Her blue eyes have been shiny with tears. “Childbirth,” she acknowledged lightly. “No,” I acknowledged, rather quietly, “no.” “Yes,” she.
Hard-looking warriors, no doubt his most sensible males. the 3 waited with reference to the rotting carcass of a sheep. i suppose a wolf had killed the beast, then been pushed off by means of canines, and the corpse lay there, crawling with maggots, torn by means of ravens, and humming with flies. The wind blew the stench towards us, which used to be most likely why Ælfric had selected to forestall there. My uncle appeared exclusive. He used to be slim and narrow-faced with a excessive hooked nostril and darkish, guarded eyes. His hair, the little that confirmed.
Arrive ahead of a ceremonial dinner, now not after! yet fear no longer, there’s foodstuff and ale!” Grimbald bowed to Ragnar. “I deliver you information, lord.” “News that couldn’t wait?” Ragnar requested good-naturedly. The corridor had long gone quiet simply because males questioned what may have introduced Grimbald in such haste during the chilly, rainy darkness. “News that may please you, lord,” Grimbald acknowledged, nonetheless smiling. “The rate of virgins has dropped?” “Alfred of Wessex, lord,” Grimbald paused, “is dead.” there has been a moment’s silence, then.