A young Chatti by the name of Adalwulf rides his stolen horse to the lands of the Marcomanni, hoping to find a ring-giver and a new life. What he finds instead is a mysterious priestess looking for him, his innate ability to fight like a demi-god, and plenty of trouble.
In the era of Augustus, the borders of River Rhenus are waiting for a change. While the Marcomanni have an uneasy peace with Rome, Rome is turning its eye to the north. The feuds of two Goth lords Bero and Hulderic thrust Adalwulf in a desperate quest that will determine not only his future, the fate of a high-born enemy, the life of a woman he loves, but also the future of the whole Marcomanni tribe.
Will Adalwulf succeed in his quest of the Two Swords, even when he has to deal with Leuthard, the beastly champion of the Marcomanni, a strange band of mercenaries led by a murderer, and Roman traitors?
Adalwulf is a stand alone book for two interconnected series, and all the books in these series sell daily, and are situated between 7 to 40 k in Amazon total rankings. During the past 1.5 years, we have sold 22k books.
T
hief.
The stabbing shame was back.
It’s impossible to escape it, I thought. I chased it away, but it returned like dog to its vomit. I tried to drown it with a smile, but it turned the smile sour. I pressed the sides of my head with both hands, and rapped my skull, trying to squeeze and beat the bothersome, stabbing knowledge of my crime out, but the brief pain didn’t help at all. I reasoned with the shame, hoping it might dissipate like a cloud on a hot day, but the irksome thought remained there, shaming and mocking my efforts.
And so, I let it win.
A thief. A damned, thieving bastard. That’s what you are, I thought, and let go of my skull before anyone saw and thought me mad, and I sulked instead.
Not even the distance helped. While I rode far from my home that bright summer day, long miles and miles from the hills of my homeland, I would not escape the humbling thought of my crime. Awake or dreaming, the thieving crime was there, always there. I had escaped my homelands, hoping for new winds. While I loved the new sights, the odd lands I passed, embraced the possibility of a fresh start so far from the lands of the Chatti and Mattium, I felt the same. Occasionally, the shame grasped my heart, squeezed it brutally. I had never imagined shame might be so strong it could physically hurt one.
“Gods, let the distance heal me,” I whispered, but only the insufferably happy birds answered, their high, excited calls glorifying the summer as they flew low across a barley field. The crime took place in the lands of the Chatti. That oppidum, a mighty hill fort was far, it was true.
But not so the object of the crime.
The reason for my hardship was between my legs. Nay, there was no woman involved.
The horse.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Chiara Sansoni
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