Jango

Seeker, Morning Star, and theWildman return in this gripping sequel to Seeker and discover that the mysterious warrior sect they were so desperate to join is not what it appeared to be from the outside. Deeply disillusioned, the three escape and head off on what they think are separate quests but thatsoon become intertwined--and desperately life threatening.Fortunately, they have acquired the remarkable physical skills of the Noble Warriors, for they are certainly going to need them. The mighty warlord of the Orlan nation is gathering his forces and has vowed to destroy Anacrea--and everything and everyone thatcrosses his path.With its riveting anddeft handlingofmyriad themes including love, courage, friendship, desire, faith, and redemption, Jango will mesmerize every reader who dares to take the journey.

1The Secret SkillSEEKER ADOPTED THE COMBAT STANCE KNOWN AS THE Tranquil Alert: feet a pace apart and flat on the ground, arms loose at his sides, head erect, balanced and steady. He softened the focus of his gaze so that his eyes became sensitive to the smallest movement. He calmed his breathing until his breaths were slow and even. For a single brief moment he attended to the feelings in his bare feet: the prick of grit on the worn pavers, the slickness of water on stone.A chill winter rain was falling steadily from the gray sky. It soaked into his hair and his tunic and formed puddles among the loose stones of the courtyard.He heard his teachers intake of breath and knew he was about to be given the first command. He exhaled a single long slow breath and slid into the attack stance called the Hammer and Nail. Two fingers of his right hand were the nail, tingling and still by his side. The entire combined force of his being, which his teachers called the lir, was the hammer. He had chosen his weapon and his initiating strike.Pay respect!The scratchy voice came from his combat teacher, a short middle-aged Noma with a sleepy face. All his featureshis eyebrows, his cheeks, the corners of his mouthseemed to droop downwards, and his heavily lidded eyes were half closed. However, as Seeker well knew, he was far from sleepy.Obediently Seeker bowed, first his upper body from the waist, then his head: paying respect. Only as he straightened up did he allow himself to see his opponent, standing a pace away from him in the rainy courtyard, beneath the shadow of the high dome of the Nom.It was the Wildman: his friend and fellow novice, and the only one of their group of eight he had never yet defeated. In the course of nine months of training, during which Seeker had felt his body grow strong and the lir flow to his command, he and the Wildman had met in combat fourteen times, and he had lost every bout. He had never yet, facing the Wildman, achieved that sudden overwhelming strike which breaks the opponents guard and shatters his concentration. With Jobal he could do it, and with Felice, but never with the Wildman.His friend was now also straightening up from the respect. Their eyes met, unseeing as strangers. Seeker tracked for clues over the Wildmans beautiful rain-streaked face.The throat. Hell strike for my throat.It was the Wildmans usual move. But he was so fast and so strong that knowing it was coming was not enough. Seekers mind moved smoothly and rapidly, using the few seconds now left to him. When the teacher gave the second command, the combat would begin. It would last for one, or two, or possibly three strikesno more. Trained Nomana did not require lengthy bouts. Each fighter had at his disposal a single devastating blow, the blow into which his lir was concentrated, like the force of a great river funneled into a narrow jet. If this win-all or lose-all blow was struck too soon, or fell wide, the fight was lost. Timing was all.See

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Excerpted from Jango by William Nicholson
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