“The Empty Throne” is a Pathfinder Adventure Path scenario designed for four 13th-level characters. By the end of this adventure, characters should reach 16th . This books (The Empty Throne [PDF]) Made by Bernard Cornwell. The West Saxons want their king, but Uhtred has long supported AEthelflaed, sister to King Edward of Wessex and widow of AEthelred. The stage is set for rivals to fight for the empty throne. the empty throne a novel saxon tales book 8 - lottopro - the saxon stories the saxon inentertainment the empty throne pdf the empty throne (saxon tales #8) by.
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He takes refuge in an abandoned fort. His priest, Cuthbert, mentions to him an old Biblical tale which implies the sword which inflicted his wound Cnut's sword, Ice-Spite , would also be able to heal it.
Eardwulf surrounds Uhtred at the abandoned fort and demands he surrender Aethelstan and be exiled. Uhtred refuses, and just before he is about to fight Eardwulf, the Lady Aethelflaed arrives and commands Eardwulf return to Gloucester. Aethelred has now died, so it is not clear who has the authority to command the troops. Eardwulf leaves for Gloucester and Uhtred, suspecting an attack, prepares a trap for Eardwulf. Eardwulf, whose only chance to inherit the Lordship is to marry Aethelred's daughter, decides his only hope is to attack Uhtred and kill the Lady Aethelflaed.
Uhtred outwits his opponent and forces Eardwulf to flee with only a handful of troops. Eardwulf's sister, Edith, is captured. Uhtred returns to Gloucester, and he learns than Eardwulf had returned briefly and stolen Aethelred's wealth.
Eardwulf, having attempted to murder Aethelflaed, is now an outlaw. At the Witan, Uhtred manages to convince Mercian nobles to select Aethelflaed as the new leader, much to the anger of Aethelhelm. Edith becomes Uhtred's lover, and she reveals to him that she knows the location of Ice-Spite.
Asser, a monk with a strong animosity towards Uhtred, took the sword after the battle at Teotanheale and has had it taken to Wales. Asser is now dead of old age. Uhtred heads to Wales, but finds the monastery ransacked and the sword stolen by Norsemen. But I was pushed onward by the swell of people behind me. Still, none of this made sense. Why would the government rush into an execution when theyd already been holding Pyrite for a week? Maybe it was some other pirate.
The woman, the fliers, they had to be wrong. A tremendous crowd had formed by the time I arrived at the ravine where death sentences were carried out, and the prisoner had already been led to the scaffolding. I pushed my way forward, wanting to get a better look, unable to believe they would be executing such an important criminal on such little notice.
On the verge of panic, I climbed on top of a waiting carriage to get a better view, squinting against the morning sun. I swore under my breath in frustration, for there was a black bag over the prisoners head.
But he was Fae, with wings the color of Zabrielsblack, rimmed turquoise, extending from his back at a proud but resigned angle, any chance they might have saved him from the plank negated by the weights that bound his wrists and ankles. Feeling as if Id been kicked in the gut, I jumped to the ground, clawing my way closer, wanting to disprove what my eyes told me was true. But the haphazard stitching over the wound in the prisoners left wing allowed no room for doubt. Zabriel had been shot at the time of his arrest by a brute of a man named Hastings.
The bullet had passed through his shoulder before damaging the wing. I had been there, I had seen it, and I knew without doubt who stood on the plank. I shuddered, besieged by memories of the drop taken by the Faerie hunter Alexander Eskander a short time ago. Eskander had soiled his pants before meeting his unceremonious death. Would Zabriel wet himself, too? Or would the hood. He was a prince facing his endhe deserved to keep his dignity.
The crush of people in whose midst I stood jostled me, their jawing and laughter churning my gut while their sheer numbers impeded my movement.
I felt sick with fear, for I had miscalculatedthe Queen wouldnt arrive in time to demand her sons life be spared. And Zabriel himself must have refused to reveal his parentage. But did I have to honor his stubborn and prideful decision to go to his grave with his secrets intact?
He was only seventeen, a year older than me, and his life was too important to let him forfeit it so foolishly. Maybe, just maybe, if I could reach the Governor before the plank dropped, I could stop this madness.
If Ivanova were told that the convict Pyrite was his grandchild, he would surely stay the execution. Pyrite, who has refused all appeals for his birth name, despite the fact that it might grant some closure to his family, is a man.
And like all men, he is responsible for his actions, his choices. This is his day of judgment, the day when he will pay for every life he has directly or indirectly taken. Governor Ivanova, attired in full military regalia, was addressing the crowd from the forefront of the viewing box near the ravine that was designed to give him and his guests a perfect view.
A half-grown pup paced on the ledge in front of him, seemingly caught up in the crowds eagerness to see the prisoner die. But I hardly registered the Governors speech; I only hoped it would last long enough for me to break into the open. The deaths of fifty-three good and honest men rest on his shoulders, including that of Ilia Krylov, who was not only Executor of the Territory, but was close in my employ and in. It is my hope that Ilias family, along with the families of Pyrites other victims, will find peace in the knowledge that by virtue of his deeds, his own life will be taken.
At mention of the name Krylov, a young woman seated beside Luka Ivanova in the viewing box curled her lip into a snarl that was lupine in its savagery. It appeared the death of the aforementioned government official was significant to herand so, therefore, was my cousins death. The Governor, husky and menacing like a bear despite his advanced years, raised his hand as I ducked elbows and curses to push my way to the front of the spectators.
I was closeperhaps close enough to distract him before he could signal the guards at the scaffold to drop the plank. I gulped in air and screamed so loudly my throat burned. My wail echoed above the din, prompting those closest to me to give way, hands clamped over their ears. Scores of eyes bore into me, but I stared at the only face that mattered, my chest heaving. At last, the dark gaze of Wolfram Ivanova, so evocative of my cousins, fell on me.
His brows drew together, and the pup at his elbow growled out what seemed to be its masters reply. Now was my chance. I launched myself toward the seating box, the rush of adrenaline enough to make me believe I could still fly.
Then my head detonated with pain, my vision narrowing to black, my knees buckling. I pitched forward, my palms smacking on the cobblestones, the weight of my pack grinding into my shoulder blades. Forcing my eyes open against the amplified pulse in my temples, I looked into the scowling face of Constable Marcus Farrier, one of the Lieutenant Governors hand-picked officers.
His broad build was enough to block out the spring sun, but it was the pistol he gripped in his right hand that told me what had. He took hold of my cloak, and I cowered, but no sign of recognition flickered in his eyes. His purpose was simply to dispose of me, which he accomplished by thrusting me back into the sea of bodies.
Disturbance handled, he turned on his heel and nodded to the Governor, who let the blade of his hand slice the air. Through the blood in my eyes, I didnt see my cousin fall, didnt see his limbs flail in a vain effort to slow his momentum and land feet first, didnt see him struggle against the handcuffs that bound him.
But I heard the plank snap flat against the scaffolding and the people erupt with joy, their hunger for violence satedthe murderer William Wolfram Pyrite was no more. Then I doubled over, heaving again and again. The crowd started to disperse, and I stumbled away from the scene and into an alley, collapsing against one of its walls. I pounded my fist against the stone until it bled, then sank to the ground, guilt, sorrow, and despair pressing down on me.
I felt like a broken, wounded animal, unable to defend itself and in need of a quick end to its suffering. And like that wounded animal, I whimpered, my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking back and forth. Though I wanted to blame the Governor for what hed done, I couldnt bring myself to do so. Hed acted out of ignorance and in accordance with the law. The one person I could blameand hate and cursewas Shea, my former human friend who had handed my cousin over to the authorities for the price on his head.
I wondered if I might not hurt her the next time we met. If she returned to Tairmor with her family, we might very well encounter one another.
I closed my eyes, hoping to find some peace, but renderings of pain and loss paraded behind my lids, abrading my already raw emotions: My entire body shuddered and I broke into sobs, though no amount of crying or pounding the wall would alleviate the ache I felt. No amount of regret or absolution would quiet it. This was an ache at the core of my being, and it would remain with me forever.
When I had cried my eyes dry, I wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, then stared vacantly at the stain on the fabric.
My heart felt pummeled, each and every one of its beats echoing painfully in my head, and it took me a moment to realize the stain was mixed with blood. I touched my forehead and wincedmy injury was perhaps more serious than Id realized. Though part of me didnt care, I nonetheless tugged open my pack to rummage through it.
I pulled out a cloth to use for a bandage, and my gaze fell on Illuminas sketchbook. A nauseous chill slithered over me, for the ramifications of the drawing it contained were almost too vile to contemplate. Could she have brought the hunters down on me? For Illumina to lay claim to the Faerie throne, both Zabriel and I had to be out of the way. Could her ambition have pushed her to take such an abominable and unforgivable action? And with Zabriels execution, was her path to the throne clear?
Tightly rolling the cloth, I placed it against my forehead, wanting to stop the memories along with the flow of blood. Too many horrendous things had happened, and I didnt know how to deal with any of them. Every fiber of my being felt taut, strung tight like a bowstring, ready to snap.
A noise from the other end of the alley startled me, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. Was someone else here? Was I being watched? Had Constable Farrier recognized me, after all? Before I could come to my feet, three men staggered around the corner, arguing heatedly among themselves as they made their way toward me. Not wanting to draw notice, I sank back against the wall, hoping that if I stayed still, I could blend in with the refuse.
I winced internallyfor all the help Id been able to give Zabriel, I was of no more use than garbage. The men stopped a fair distance from me, apparently deciding the alley was a good place for a meeting, and began to pass carefully counted coins, shiny baubles, and grumbled complaints among themselves. I wouldve thought ed cry out, griped a gray-haired fellow with missing front teeth.
Disappointin that e didnt. Not nearly so festive when theyre quiet. A smaller man with a jutting jaw and slim nose that brought to mind a rat laughed gleefully. I eard e was somethin special, that one. Knew ed be tough right to the end. Not sure we should ave to pay, joined the third member of the group, by far the youngest, clutching his coin with dirty fingers. He had a bag over is ead.
Maybe e was gagged or had is tongue yanked out. He opened his mouth to charmingly illustrate this approach, and my gut lurched.
The Empty Throne
Don seem right to pay without knowin the details. Youll pay aright, the rat-like fellow threatened, giving the dissenter a shove. Thems the risks ya run. Besieged by nausea, I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the gruesome exchange of blood money in which they were engaged.
But I couldnt shut out their commentary. You lost, too, ya know, the gray-haired man rejoined. Them wings, them valuable wings, went with im over the edge.
Thats right. The youngest member of the trio had perked up, perhaps realizing he might get to keep some of his valuables. You bet theyd slice em off. But I told ya the Govna likes them Fae. Wouldnt butcher one for sport. I stiffened and my eyes flew open, a spasm of symbiotic pain afflicting the muscles of my upper back. The rat-like fellow frowned, then rubbed his grizzled chin. Maybe we could find em. You know, search in the gorge. The other men stared, at last silent, though this blessing was short-lived.
And ow we goin to do that? I eard tell of a secret entrance. Be off with ya, then. But I aint goin lookin for trouble.
Don care to end up in the ands of the Scarlets meself. Unable to tolerate more, I bolted from my hidden position, barreling out of the alley and down the street, running until I was too winded to go farther. My head was pound-. Stumbling to the side of a building, I dropped my pack at my feet and searched through it again, this time dredging up an herbal salve.
Clutching the small pouch, I washed away some of the blood on my face with water from a puddle, then caked on the thick substance. Once more pressing a cloth against it, I yanked free the sash that belted my tunic and tied it over the makeshift bandage and around my head. I closed my eyes and leaned against the buildingperhaps if I stayed still for a bit, the bleeding would end and my nerves would calm.
The Empty Throne by Cayla Kluver
I didnt want to think, didnt want to feel, and yet I couldnt prevent my mind from conjuring images of my once-vibrant cousin. Zabriel the daring, downing the mug of Sale that had been spitefully held out to him by Enerris, Illuminas father, even though it might have killed him for his lack of an elemental connection; Zabriel the charismatic, entertaining one and all at parties in the Great Redwood, for he needed no magic to draw people to him; Zabriel the kind and caring, folding me into his arms after the death of my mother, and spending time with my shy friend, Ione, who would otherwise have adored him from afar; Zabriel the rebel, crossing the Bloody Road to enter the human territory in direct defiance of his mothers wishes.
But even though he had fled his life in Chrior, tired of the whispered speculations about whether a half-human with wings but no elemental connection should be allowed to ascend to the throne, Zabriel had never forgotten his people. He had known more than I about what was going on at Evernook Island, about the plotting against our people engaged in by Fae-hating humans.
And he had been equally appalled at the discovery of the ghastly. He was the bold one, the clever one, a true man of action. Without his leadership, how could anything be set right? I came to my feet and grabbed my pack, feeling as though a stake had been driven into my chest.
The burning ache that resulted was almost unbearable, and I wanted to reach through my rib cage and tear it away. Only this was an injury for which there was no treatment, no cure.
Nor did there seem to be a way to shut off my brain, prevent it from reminding me of my mistakes and misjudgments, and from conjuring memories better buried and forgotten. I glanced about, trying to get my bearings. What I needed, what I craved, was calm, the kind of stillness Id once found with water, my element. I needed that connection to Nature, the security that existed in knowing there was a harmonizing force guiding all things. I was tired of this human city where the poor tended to be forgotten and reviled; where the constant drone of water created a sensation of drowning; where the vibration of the crashing river coursed through the streets and set me off balance; where the buildings rose tall, as claustrophobia-inducing as the clouds of smoke and pollution humanity fostered; and where my life had spun out of control.
I was Fae and didnt belong here; I was Fae and it wasnt fair I had nowhere else to go. My eyes fell on a building on the other side of the road that seemed to rise up out of nowhere. Without conscious direction, my feet had taken me to a familiar place, one to which I never thought Id return, and one that I should not enter now. But a voice inside my head, a voice that belonged.
What does it matter now? Youve failed at every task appointed to you theres no hope for your salvation. But there might be hope for a temporary reprieve. Without hesitation, I crossed the street and pushed my way through the front door of the shady establishment. Anya has failed in her mission to bring Prince Zabriel back to the Faerie realm of Chrior so that he can ascend his rightful throne.
Instead, Zabriel, her cousin and dear friend, is standing trial for crimes committed under the false name William Wolfram Pyrite. Worst of all, the last possible heir to the Faerie throne is Illumina—the cousin Anya suspects of the foulest betrayal possible.
In a desperate last attempt to put things right, Anya must partner with the unlikeliest of allies and venture into ever more dangerous situations if there is to be any hope of peace for her people. Flag for inappropriate content. Related titles. Touch of Power by Maria V. Snyder - Chapter Sampler. Jump to Page. Search inside document.
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Natalia Montes de Oca. Apoorva Sharma. Chad McMillen. Sneha Rahul Choudhary. Silvija Popov. I dream, and know that I will take back the land from those who stole it from me. I am an ealdorman, though I call myself Lord Uhtred, which is the same thing, and the fading parchments are proof of what I own.
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The Empty Throne starts in a similar vein. Which brought back all those wonderfully nostalgic emotions that have stayed with me since that long ago day when I first began this series: The Empty Throne published Prologue My Name is Uhtred.
I am the son of Uhtred, who was the son of Uhtred, and his father was also called Uhtred. My father wrote his name thus. Uhtred, but I have seen the name written as Utred, Ughtred or even Ootred. Some of those names are on ancient parchments which declare that Uhtred, son of Uhtred and grandson of Uhtred, is the lawful, sole and eternal owner of the lands that are carefully marked by stones and by dykes, by oaks and by ash, by marsh and by sea.
That land is in the north of the country we have learned to call Englaland. They are wave beaten lands beneath a wind driven sky. It is the land we call Bebbanburg. But that is where the similarities between the two books start and finish. This book is nothing like those before it. The author did not stick to that time worn formula. This is a story more about the setting of chess pieces than the following of a well beaten path. It was not without its risks for the author no doubt.
There will be a truck load of fans out there who will be disappointed by the lack of formula in this one.In this drama I experienced myself standing in a great hall, looking at great double doors at the end of the hall.
Why hadnt William Wolfram Pyrites arrest been made known? I had always been an avid reader. He had defeated the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria, even if his generals had done so largely by following the strategy developed under Obama. Click for larger view View full resolution. I want to keep it for comparison. I demanded, but he had already moved out of earshot.
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