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Bloodhound (The Legend of Beka Cooper, Book 2) by Tamora Pierce

By Tamora Pierce

Beka Cooper is eventually a Dog—a full-fledged member of the Provost’s shield, devoted to protecting peace in Corus’s streets. yet there’s unrest in Tortall’s capital. Counterfeit cash are turning up in outlets all around the urban, and retailers are elevating costs to hide their losses. The canines observe that gamblers are bringing the counterfeit funds from Port Caynn. In Port Caynn, Beka delves deep into the playing global, the place she meets a captivating banking clerk named Dale Rowan. Beka thinks she could be falling for Rowan, yet she won’t permit anything—or anyone—jeopardize her venture. As she heads north to an deserted silver mine, it won’t be sufficient for Beka be her traditional “terrier” self. She’ll need to examine from Achoo to smell out the criminals—to be a Bloodhound. . . .

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Extra info for Bloodhound (The Legend of Beka Cooper, Book 2)

Sample text

Even before the army’s arrival, it hadn’t been green—it had been a patchy brown, winter thatch broken only occasionally by hesitant new shoots. Those had been sickly and yellow, and they had now been trampled by hooves or booted feet. Tents covered the green. From Rand’s vantage on the second floor, the neat lines of small, peaked tents reminded him of squares on a stones board. The soldiers had noticed the wind. Some pointed, others kept their heads down, polishing armor, carrying buckets of water to the horselines, sharpening swords or lance points.

His dear brothers! An arrow slammed into him, throwing him backward to the ground. Around him, men died, just as they had earlier. Why, why hadn’t the Dragon protected them? Why? Suddenly, the horror of it all returned to him, the sinking terror of watching his men fall in waves, at watching them die at the hands of those Darkfriend Aiel. It was Perrin Aybara’s fault. If only the Prophet had seen earlier, back in the early days, before he’d even recognized the Lord Dragon for who he was! 37 W HAT THE S TORM M EANS “It’s my fault,” the Prophet whispered as the last of his followers died.

They rode in pairs, one woman of each pair wearing gray, the other red and blue. They were far too distant, even with the glass, for him to make out the embroidered lightning bolts on the dresses of those in red and blue, nor could he see the chains that linked each pair together. Damane and sul’dam. This army had at least a hundred pairs, probably more. If that weren’t enough, he could see one of the flying beasts above, drawing close for its rider to drop a message to the general. With those creatures to carry their scouts, the Seanchan army had an unprecedented edge.

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