Hood (King Raven Trilogy)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Robin Hood: The Legend Begins Anew
For centuries, the legend of Robin Hood and his band of thieves has captivated the imagination. Now the familiar tale takes on new life, fresh meaning, and an unexpected setting.
Hunted like an animal by Norman invaders, Bran ap Brychan, heir to the throne of Elfael, has abandoned his father's kingdom and fled to the greenwood. There, in a primeval forest of the Welsh borders, danger surrounds him--for this woodland is a living, breathing entity with mysterious powers and secrets, and Bran must find a way to make it his own if he is to survive.
Steeped in Celtic mythology and the political intrigue of medieval Britain, Stephen R. Lawhead conjures up an ancient past and holds a mirror to contemporary realities. Prepare yourself for an epic tale that dares to shatter everything you thought you knew about Robin Hood.
through, Guy rode back up the slope and signalled the drivers to come ahead. When the first of the three teams had descended into the dell—which now resembled a well-stirred bog—Guy, taking no chances, ordered branches to be cut and laid down and ropes to be attached so riders could help pull the fully laden vehicle through the morass. Like a boat dragged across a tide-abandoned bay, the first wagon slid recklessly across. The laborious process was repeated for each of the two remaining wagons
and stretching his legs. “Bring the rest when it is ready—and some of those fraises, if there are any left.” “Of course, sire,” replied the seneschal. “The sessions went well today, I assume?” “They went very well indeed, Remey. I am content.” Baron Neufmarché raised his cup and allowed himself a long, satisfying sip, savouring the fine, tart edge of the wine. Councils always brought demands, and this one more than most—owing to the prolonged absence of the king. Royal dispatch fresh from
gloom at the thought. Some of those in the room did indeed look as if they might have taken up more or less permanent residence there; they brought out food from well-stocked tuck bags, some slept, and others whiled away the time playing at dice. Morning passed, and the day slowly crept away. It was after midday, and Bran’s stomach had begun reminding him that he had eaten nothing but soup and hard bread since the day before, when the door at the end of the great vestibule opened and a courtier
charge, sliced the air with his spear, thrusting again and again, carving a crimson pathway through horseflesh and manflesh alike. With deadly efficiency, he took the fight to the better-armed and better-protected marchogi and soon outdistanced his own comrades. Twisting in the saddle, he saw that the attack had bogged down behind him. The Norman knights, having absorbed the initial shock of the charge, were now surrounding the smaller Cymry force. It was time to break off lest the war-band
soul, changing him from the inside out, though he did not know it. There would come a day when the meaning would break upon him; maybe sooner, maybe later, but it would come. And for this, as much as for the progress of his healing, Angharad watched him so that she would be there when it happened. She also made plans. One day, as Bran sat outside in a pool of warm sunlight, Angharad appeared with an ash-wood stave in her hand. She came to where he sat and said, “Stand up, Bran.” Yawning, he