Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire, #1)

by Michael J. Sullivan

The metal of his blade had broken, but the mettle of the man rang true.

Suri shook her head in irritation. “Magda’s being a beech.”

There is an old clan saying: When a stranger comes to the door, always be generous because it might be a god in disguise. In my experience, gods do not use disguises. They are too arrogant.

Were you not handpicked by the great Fenelyus to be Mawyndulë’s tutor? And didn’t she bestow upon you the honorific of Cenzlyor?

“I’m Tekchin,” he said, exchanging an empty gourd for a full one. “The handsomest and most skilled of the Galantians.” This brought an immediate and loud moan from the other Fhrey. “That scar suggests otherwise,” Moya replied. “On both counts.”

It was what the tree said to do. And if you can’t trust an ancient talking tree, what was the point of having one?

Strange how Grin had the same morbid decorating habits as the chieftains of Dahl Rhen.

“Gryndal, you cuckold cur and craven whore’s son,” Nyphron replied in Rhunic. Persephone held her breath, her eyes wide, but the god of chains merely stared at Nyphron with suspicion. “It’s a common Rhune welcome,” Nyphron said, this time in Fhrey.