**EVERYTHING PAST THIS POINT COMPLETELY BELONGS TO JOHN FLANAGAN**

Brotherband Book Six: The Ghostfaces [Release Date: June 14, 2016]

Prices

Kindle: $10.99 - Hardcover: $10.88 - Audio CD: $53.10

Pre-Order Bundle:

The Ghostfaces (The Brotherband Chronicles) By John Flanagan[$10.88]

The Trials of Apollo Book One The Hidden Oracle By Rick Riordan[$17.49]

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book Two The Hammer of Thor By Rick Riordan[$14.51]

Total Price: $42.88 (Note* These items will ship separately  and you will receive them at different times. Also, purchases over $35  will have free shipping)

Description

When the Brotherband crew are caught in a massive storm at sea,  they're  blown far off course and wash up on the shores of a land so far  west  that Hal can't recognize it from any of his maps. Eerily, the  locals are  nowhere in sight, yet the Herons have a creeping feeling  they are being  watched.

Suddenly the silence is broken when a massive,  marauding bear  appears, advancing on two children. The crew springs into  action and  rescues the children from the bear's clutches, which earns  them the  gratitude and friendship of the local Mawagansett tribe, who  finally  reveal themselves. But the peace is short-lived. The Ghostfaces,  a  ruthless, warlike tribe who shave their heads and paint their faces   white, are on the warpath once more. It's been ten years since they   raided the Mawagansett village, but they're coming back to pillage and   reap destruction. As the enemy approaches, the Herons gear up to help   their new friends repel an invasion.

In this sixth book in the   action-packed Brotherband Chronicles, the Herons find themselves in   unfamiliar lands and prepare for battle with a ruthless, unknown enemy

Chapter One

"I don't like the look of that," Thorn said, wrinkling his nose as he sniffed the damp salt air.

He  and Hal were standing on the breakwater of the small harbor that  served  Castle Dun Kilty in Clonmel. The castle itself was several  kilometers  inland, but the harbor was home to a small fishing fleet  that provided  food for the castle and its surrounding village. In  addition, it was a  haven for courier ships bringing messages to King  Sean, ruler of  Clonmel.

Heron was one such ship. She had delivered a signed and  sealed set  of official papers to the king, a renewal of the treaty  between Skandia  and Clonmel. She had also delivered similar documents to  three other  kingdoms farther down the Hibernian coast. Erak liked to  use the Heron  for such tasks. She was fast and handy, and Hal was a  reliable  navigator.

Now, however, their task was completed and it was time to head for home. But the weather wasn't altogether promising.

The two friends studied the gray, racing seas that surged past outside the harbor walls, driven by the stiff north wind.

Thorn sniffed again. "It'll be a wet, rough passage north to round the tip of Picta," he said.

Hal shrugged. "We've been wet before," he replied, and then grinned. "It's part of a sailor's lot, they say."

"No sense in getting soaked for the sake of it," Thorn said. "If we wait a day or two, this might blow itself out."

"Or  it might get worse, and then we'll find ourselves trapped here,  with a  hard beat north into the wind and sea. We could be caught here  for a  week or more."

"We'd be dry," Thorn said.

Hal shook his  head. "We'd be bored to tears as well," he said.  "There's precious  little to do in the town here." He paused, studying  the racing waves  once more, looking to the north, then he came to a  decision. "We'll go,"  he said. "Let's get the crew on board."

They strode briskly back  around the breakwater to the small town.  There was an inn there where  the Herons had been accommodated while  they carried out their diplomatic  mission. The others were finishing  their breakfasts in the taproom when  Hal and Thorn entered, allowing a  gust of cold wind to swirl around the  room and set the fire flaring in  the grate. Eight pairs of eyes looked  up at them expectantly.

"We're going," Hal told them.

"About  time too," Stig said. He shared Hal's opinion of the lack of   entertainment in the little port. Stefan, Ulf and Wulf gulped down the   rest of the nourishing porridge the innkeeper had served them. The rest   of the crew had finished eating, but they took final sips of the inn's   excellent coffee, knowing it would be their last for some time.

Hal glanced at Edvin. "Are we stocked up?"

Edvin nodded. "Provisioned and watered, ready to go," he said, then added, "Although I'd like to pick up a few loaves of bread."

Once  they were at sea, they'd be subsisting on hardtack biscuits. It  was  always good to have a supply of soft fresh bread at the start of  the  voyage. Hal nodded assent and Edvin hurried out, heading for the  bakery a  few doors away. The rest of the crew gathered up their  rucksacks and  other personal belongings and straggled out the door.

"Take a reef in the sails before you hoist them," Hal called after Ulf and Wulf. "That wind is getting up."

The  two sail trimmers nodded. It made sense to do this before they  hoisted  the sails, rather than have to lower them again to lash a fold  in them  and reduce the sail area.

Hal waited behind to check the  reckoning the innkeeper had ready for  him. He ran his finger down the  list of charges—so many rooms for so  many nights, and a tally of the  meals his crew had eaten. He signed off  on the bill and handed it back.  They were on a diplomatic mission and  the bill would be sent to Castle  Dun Kilty.

"Thanks for the hospitality," he said to the innkeeper.

"Always  a pleasure to see you," the innkeeper replied. The Herons  had provided  him with good business at a slack time of the year. Then  he couldn't  help grinning. "Although there was a time I'd never have  said that to  Skandians."

Hal smiled in return. Not too many years ago, the  presence of a  wolfship in the harbor would have been accompanied by a  lot of  unpleasantness, and the skirl wouldn't have been signing for the  food  and drink consumed by the crew. He would have simply seized it at  sword  point—along with the inn's taking for the week.

"Different  times," he said. He picked up his own kit bag from where  he had left it  earlier in the morning and tossed it over his shoulder  as he exited. The  cold wind whistled round the harbor, and he quickened  his pace as he  headed for the jetty where Heron was moored.

Edvin was a few  meters in front of him, carrying a net of fresh  loaves. He jumped  lightly down from the jetty onto Heron and stowed the  bread in the  central watertight section of the hull. Even inside the  bay, the unruly  sea was causing the little ship to jerk at her  moorings, and setting the  wicker fenders squealing as she snubbed  against the ropes holding her  to the jetty.

Hal made his way aft, stowed his kit bag in his personal space and stepped to the steering platform. He glanced at Stig.

"All ready?" he asked, although he knew the answer. Stig was an efficient first mate.

"Whenever you are," Stig replied.

Hal  unlashed the restraining rope on the tiller and looked around  the  harbor. There were no other ships moving. The boats of the little   fishing fleet were cozily tucked up in their moorings farther down   harbor.

Very wise of them, he thought bleakly, pulling his  sheepskin collar  up higher round his neck in anticipation of the wet  journey ahead. He  reached inside his jerkin and produced his woolen  watch cap, emblazoned  with the heron symbol. He pulled it tight down  round his ears and  glanced up at the wind telltale on the mast. The wind  was on their  beam, from the port side.

"Starboard sail," he  ordered, and Stefan and Jesper bent to the  halyards, sending the  slender, curving yardarm up the mast and letting  it clunk into place.  Ulf and Wulf were watching him expectantly.

"Cast off for'ard!"  Hal called to Thorn in the bow. Thorn released  the for'ard mooring rope  and the bow began to swing out, away from the  jetty.

"Cast off aft," he said to Stig, then, "Sheet home!"

The  ship gathered way almost immediately as the twins hauled the  sail  tight. She curved away from the jetty, buffeting her way through  the  short, steep waves. Hal let her slide away to starboard, heading   diagonally across the little bay. The tiller vibrated under his hand,   and, as ever, he marveled at the sense that he was in control of a   living being.

When he judged the angle was right, he brought the  bow round to port  and the twins reacted immediately, hauling the sail in  tighter. Now  Heron was angled to the left of the harbor mouth. But  she'd make  leeway, falling off to the right under the force of the wind,  so that  when they reached the harbor mouth, she'd be heading straight  for the  center of the gap. Hal couldn't have articulated how he knew  where to  head the bows so they would arrive at that exit point. It was a   combination of instinct and experience, and his intimate knowledge of   his ship's performance and handling.

The ship passed between the  two granite breakwaters, heading into  the open sea. Instantly, the wind  force increased as they emerged from  the shelter of the harbor, and the  ship began to heel to starboard. Ulf  and Wulf, without needing to be  told, eased the sheets to reduce the  pressure in the sail, and the Heron  came upright once more. She rose to  the first of the rollers, then slid  down into the trough behind it,  smashing into the following wave and  drenching the deck and its  occupants with a shower of white water.

"What price a warm, dry inn now?" Thorn called.

Hal grinned at him. "I can set you ashore again if you like," he said. "We'll come back for you next summer."

Heron  swooped up the face of another roller, then slid down the  back, sending  more spray across the decks. Those not on duty huddled  under  tarpaulins, hastily snatched around them.

Hal grinned to himself.  It was cold. It was wet. And he loved it.  This was what his life was  meant to be, he thought, the freedom of  movement that a good, seaworthy  ship gave him. The exhilaration of  meeting and taming the wind and the  sea.

Then a shower of spray hit him in the face, and he  spluttered and  coughed. A hand nudged him and he dashed the spray out of  his eyes to  see Lydia beside him, holding out a tarpaulin cloak.

"Cover up, idiot," she said, "before you drown."

She took the tiller while he hauled the cloak around him. He smiled at her gratefully.

"Thanks, Mummy," he said.

She  raised an eyebrow. "Mummy yourself," she muttered, then she  sought  shelter in the leeward rowing benches. A wave broke over the  bows and  water surged the length of the deck. Kloof, fastened by a  length of rope  to the mast, snapped at it and tried to bite it as it  swirled around  her. She seemed to be enjoying herself, Hal thought.

They spent  the rest of the morning tacking back and forth as they  made their way  north along the coastline. By midday, they had left  Hibernia behind and  could see the dim gray coast of Araluen and Picta  to starboard. It was  wet and cold and uncomfortable but that was a  minor concern to the crew.  They were young and hardy and they were used  to conditions like this.  They had sailed in wet, icy weather virtually  since they could walk.  Skandians didn't stay in port because of a bit  of cold weather.

And besides, they were heading home and that was sufficient reason to put up with a bit of discomfort.

In  the early afternoon, they rounded the northernmost point of the  coast  of Picta, and Hal, after giving himself plenty of sea room, set a  course  to the east. The wind was on their port side now and they were  on a  reach, possibly their best point of sailing. The Heron swooped and   skimmed over the rollers like her namesake, and they all felt the   elation that came with sailing fast and heading for home.

Mid-afternoon,  Thorn left his customary position at the foot of the  mast, where he  huddled with Kloof, sharing her warmth, and paced back  to the steering  platform. The rest of the crew were following Lydia's  example, crouching  in the leeward rowing well, wrapped in cloaks and  tarpaulins, heads  down and chins tucked in to conserve warmth.

Thorn gestured with a thumb to the north. "I really don't like the look of that," he said.

Hal  followed the direction of his thumb. A black line of thick,  heavy storm  clouds, shot through with flashes of lightning, blotted out  the ocean.

It was still a long way away. But it was coming straight at them.

~Can we call it even now and forget the times I don't update?

~SO