Victory of the Hawk

And now, an excerpt from the tail end of Victory of the Hawk

Oh MAN, you guys. I want to gush at you about the tail end of this book so very, very much, and I can’t, because massive, and I do mean massive spoilers. But I will share with you this mostly context-free excerpt from the end of Chapter 18, about which I will simply say that this is the point in the Victory of the Hawk Movie In My Brain where the orchestra has just lain down some Okay, Shit Is Now About to Go Down ominous building chords.

If you’ve read the first two books, you’ll recognize the names of Kestar and Margaine. And yeah, let’s put this behind a cut, shall we? Since there is a spoiler here. Muahaha.

“I will. Captain, if you please, let Lord Vaarsen have the weapon.” This time, when Margaine turned to the captain of the guard, it was with less frost in her eye and more focused purpose. The man was still palpably distressed by everything that had transpired before him, and the other guard and the two Hawks were little more at ease. But the man stepped forward, drew the pistol he’d been wearing in the holster at his side, and checked it over with a practiced eye before holding the butt of the gun out for Kestar.

It was in the room this whole time?

His breath catching in his throat, Kes reached out to take the weapon. Amathilàen. Moonshadow. Both names seemed too otherworldly for something as prosaic as a pistol. Yet as the weapon passed from the guard’s hand to his own, as his gaze fell upon it, he took in the silver-white sheen of its metal, its oddly graceful lines, and the sigil of clouds obscuring a moon worked into the leather that adorned the grip. A shudder of recognition coursed through him—it looked strangely like his father’s amulet. Then his fingers closed around the grip, and the room and everyone in it abruptly vanished from his sight.

Her head snapping up in reaction, like a she-wolf’s scenting blood. Her pain and rage and confusion flowing together into pure molten wrath, while her power stirred and began to build, lightning seeking its next place to strike.

“Dear gods,” he whispered when his vision cleared. “She’s coming.”

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