“Where are we?”
Tuk shook his head. “I have no idea. I only know that we are no longer where we were when we saw the yeti.”
Annja felt the pillows. The fabric they were covered in was smooth and silky to the touch. She looked around the room and saw that the same type of material covered the walls. Light came from somewhere, but it was subdued and reflected inward from an outside source. The room seemed designed to transition people from wherever they’d been into this place. Waking up to a harsh lightbulb probably wasn’t the best way to do that, so the lighting was dim, but Annja could still see everything.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked.
“A few minutes, no more,” Tuk said. “I’m afraid that when you told me to stop breathing, I did exactly the opposite and took a huge breath, which no doubt hastened my own demise as it were.”
Annja grinned. “You can’t be faulted for that.”
Tuk leaned closer. “You know, that is the second time I have seen that sword of yours. How is it possible for that to somehow conceal itself on your body and not be noticeable?”
Annja laughed. “If I tried to explain it to you, you’d only have more questions. And they’d probably be questions I couldn’t answer. Not because I don’t want to. But because I don’t know the answers myself.”
Tuk leaned back. “I see. But you have it here still?”
Annja closed her eyes and saw the sword hovering in the otherwhere. “It’s here,” she said.
False Horizon
Rogue Angel™
Alex Archer
The Legend
…THE ENGLIH COMMANDER TOOK JOAN’S 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, untill 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 reborn….
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
Nepal was one of the places in the world where Annja Creed felt that the line between fantasy and reality grew very thin. It’s relatively modern city, Katmandu, still nestled enclaves of the old world—when the lines between Buddhist, Taoist and Hindu religions intersected and the Mongols of the north fell down upon their southern neighbors. And the most imposing, the massive Himalayan mountain range shadowed the entire region with its sheer magnitude and incredible stillness and tranquility.
In Katmandu, motorbikes raced around while rickshaws still peppered the streets pulled by wiry little men intent on earning enough money to feed their families. Dust filled the air and gasoline fumes tainted every breath.
Masses of eyes watched every happening on the crowded streets. While Nepal was ostensibly a monarchy, it also shared a border with Tibet and China beyond that. As such, intelligence services from around the globe plied their cloak-and-dagger trade in the shadows and overhangs of the city. Paid informants kept track of their various targets and Annja knew it would be almost impossible to lose any surveillance she might pick up.
Not that she expected to be followed.
Her purpose for being in the capital city was one of pure adventure and not some underhanded government operation. And she felt excited about the prospect of finding the target of her quest.
She’d journeyed from her home in New York at the behest of Professor Mike Tingley, head of the Ancient Religions department at Charlesgate University. He’d emailed Annja and asked her if she might be interested in accompanying him on his trip. When Annja saw where he was headed, she immediately made plans for a personal leave from hosting her cable television show, Chasing History’s Monsters, and started planning in earnest.
The flight over from New York City to the first waypoint in Osaka, Japan, took twelve hours. Annja used the time to research as much about their quest as was possible. In the Osaka airport, she bought a bowl of soba noodle soup at one of the stands and watched as tourists buzzed past her. She never tired of visiting foreign countries and exploring their cultures.
The connecting flight put her in Katmandu the next day. As Annja deplaned, the sights and sounds of the region rushed back to greet her. With her visa properly stamped, she hailed a taxi.
“Thamel,” she requested.
The driver shook his head. “I can’t drive in Thamel. Streets too narrow. You need to take a rickshaw.”
Annja handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Take me as far as you can and I’ll get along the rest of the way.”
The driver eyed the twenty and shook his head. “Dollar not good anymore. America economy bad.”
Annja frowned and pulled out another twenty. “How about this?”
The driver pocketed the money and nodded. “Now it’s good.” He shifted the taxi into Drive and bolted out of the parking space outside the airport terminal.
Annja opened her window and took in the smells of Katmandu. The combination of diesel fumes and sewage made her nose crinkle but only for a moment. She remembered the scent and knew it was only a matter of time before she grew used to it.
Nothing’s changed, she thought. The city still looks the same.
Twenty