The Eternal Champion: The Eternal Champion Sequence 1

The Eternal Champion: The Eternal Champion Sequence 1

Michael Moorcock

Language: English

Pages: 240

ISBN: 1783291613

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


John Daker dreams of other worlds, and a name: Erekosë. He finds the strength to answer the call, travelling to a strange land ruled by the aging King Rigenos of Necranal. Humanity is united in a desperate fight against the inhuman Eldren, and he must fight with them. But the actions of his brethren turns his loyalties, and as Erekosë he will take a terrible revenge.

The Paths of the Perambulator (Spellsinger, Book 5)

The Doomsday Code (TimeRiders, Book 3)

Gold of the Gods (Mission: Survival)

Superior Saturday (The Keys to the Kingdom, Book 6)

The Battle for Skandia (Ranger's Apprentice, Book 4)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

expected of us.” Hastily he finished his wine and placed his crowned helmet upon his head. We left the cabin together and, as we came out, the cheering on the quayside swelled louder and louder. We stood there waving to the people as the drums began to pound out the slow rowing rhythm. I saw Iolinda seated in her carriage, her body half-turned to watch as we left. I waved to her and she raised her own arm in a final salute. “Goodbye, Iolinda,” I murmured. Katorn darted me a cynical look from

“When?” I asked him. “What kind? I wish to know so that I can take counter-measures.” “They can make themselves invisible sometimes. That’s how they took Paphanaal, so it’s said. They can walk on water, sail through the air.” “You have seen them do this?” “Not myself. But I’ve heard many tales, tales I can believe from men who do not lie.” “And these men have experienced this sorcery?” “Not themselves. But they have known men who did.” “So their use of sorcery remains a rumour,” I said.

sword, whereas armour should be made to turn a point. This armour, for all its beauty, acted more as an extra danger than a protection. The guards were mounted on heavy warhorses, but the beasts that knelt awaiting us resembled a kind of camel from which all the camel’s lumpen ugliness had been bred. These beasts were beautiful. On their high backs were cabins of ebony, ivory and mother-of-pearl, curtained in scintillating silks. We walked down the hill and, as we walked, I noticed that I still

cold sweat seemed to cover my body and clog my armour. The lance and the shield were suddenly very heavy. I smelled the stink of other sweating men and horses. Before long, I would smell their blood, too. Because of our need for speed, we had brought no cannon. The Eldren, also wishing to travel rapidly, had no artillery either. Perhaps, I thought, their siege machines were following behind at a slower pace. Nearer now. I could make out Arjavh’s banner and a little cluster of flags that were

astonishment, galloping back to our own camp to give the news to the marshals. The streets of Loos Ptokai were silent, as if in mourning. And when Arjavh came down the steps from the battlements to greet me, I saw, that he, too, wore the expression which showed upon my own harsh features. His step was not so lithe and his voice not quite so lilting as when we had first met a year before. I dismounted. He gripped my arm. “So,” he said in attempted gaiety, “the barbarian battlemonger is still

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