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Bullets And Bones

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Blurb

Desa Kincaid set out to save her world from the machinations of a madman.

She failed.

Now, she finds herself a prisoner in her own city, navigating a web of political intrigue. Hope beckons in the form of the mysterious Spear of Vengeance, a weapon forged by the gods.

To recover it, Desa will take a journey into the very heart of the ancient world and confront an enemy more powerful than any she has faced so far... Her own guilt.

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Prologue
PROLOGUE Wind swept through the narrow canyon with a howl like a banshee, a sound made only more terrifying by the moonless, night sky overhead. There were a few stars twinkling faintly, but otherwise not a speck of light to be had. Well, except for Sal’s lantern. The small lamp cast an orange glow on the canyon walls, walls that stood so close together he could barely stretch his arms out to the sides. Night in the desert was cold, and that relentless wind only worsened matters. Sal scrambled over the rocky ground, panting with exhaustion. The lantern swung like a pendulum on its metal ring, the flames dancing and nearly winking out more than once. He tripped on a rock. Falling onto his knees deliberately, Sal held hard to the lantern. He managed to keep his grip on it, though the hot glass smacked against his cheek and burned him. Wincing, he hissed air through his teeth and then shook his head. “Keep going,” he whispered to himself. “Get up!” And then he was on his feet again. He ran as if Death itself chased him. His actual pursuer was much, much worse. He jumped over a rock, landing in a crouch, then forced himself to rise again and darted through the canyon like a madman. A shadow leaped across the canyon above him. Craning his neck when he noticed the flicker of motion, Sal squinted at it. “No,” he breathed. “No, she can’t be this close.” The ground beneath his feet had a slight upward tilt. Rocks crunched under his shoes as he sprinted up the tiny hill. He had to reach the end of the canyon before his pursuer caught up to him. Except she had already caught up to him. Perhaps he should turn back? No, that would put him back inside the network of caves where she had found him in the first place. He didn’t want to die in there. A few minutes later, he emerged from the canyon onto hard-packed, sun-beaten clay only to find the shadow waiting for him. A hooded figure that stood with a knife clutched in one hand. “Did you really think you could outrun a bounty hunter?” Sal shut his eyes, tears leaking from them, streaming over his cheeks. “Please,” he whimpered. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it.” “With what money?” “I…I have gold.” The shadow strode forward, chuckling softly. “A little-known but easily-deduced fact about bounty hunters,” she said. “We can’t be bought. Because, you see, if I were to break the contract that set me after you simply because you offered more money – and I have serious doubts that you could make good on that promise – well, my reputation would be worthless. In fact, such a betrayal would impugn the dignity of all bounty hunters, and thus my brothers and sisters would have no choice but to hunt me down to clear their good names.” Snot dripped from Sal’s nose. His tears flowed freely, and his body trembled. “Please,” he mumbled, his voice cracking. “Please, I beg you not to do this.” “They all do in the end.” Sal turned and tried to run. A coin landed at his feet, and then he was pulled down to his knees, anchored to the ground by a force that he could not explain. His arms and legs felt so heavy. The lantern fell from his grip, glass shattering on impact. The flame was helpless before the wind’s terrible onslaught. The hooded figure held up her hand, and the ring around her finger began to glow, providing more light than ten lanterns could. Sal could see her as clearly as he would if the blazing sun hung overhead. Her footsteps were so light he could barely hear them. Somehow, she seemed to be unaffected by whatever held Sal pinned to the earth. With her free hand, she pulled back her hood to expose a pale face framed by curly, brown hair. Her large, dark eyes gave her a girlish quality. “You ran,” she said. “I hate it when they run. So, I’m going to have to make this as painful as possible.” “No!” She brandished the knife, its blade reflecting the light from her ring. “You have the honour of dying by the hand of Azra Vanya. Take comfort in that.” PART I

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