Left on the Shelf: The Hussar's Duty by Griffin Brady

I am delighted to be bringing you an excerpt as part of the blog tour for The Hussar's Duty by Griffin Brady. It is a standalone novel in The Winged Warrior Series. Enjoy!

The Blurb

Poland’s most valiant winged hussar is called to fight in a campaign ripe for disaster. But he must also protect those he loves from jackals waiting to pounce. How does he choose between duty and devotion when death is on the line?

When Sultan Osman II sends Poland's envoy packing, the Commonwealth must prepare for war against one of the largest armies the Ottomans have ever assembled. Tasked with repelling the invasion is Grand Hetman of the Crown Stanisław Żółkiewski, and he knows who to turn to: Jacek Dąbrowski, the Commonwealth’s most valiant Polish winged hussar.

Jacek has been idle far too long, and the call to arms is a sirens song he can’t resist. But he has built a life far from the battlefield with his wife, Oliwia, and their children. If he pursues his quest for glory, who will safeguard them? Oliwia knows her husband is restless. In fact, she’s been sending Jacek on cross-country errands for years in the hopes of quelling his lust for battle. When she realizes her efforts are futile, she resolves herself to letting him go — after hatching a scheme to accompany him.

Honor. Obligation. Devotion. These forces push and pull Jacek in different directions. His country needs him, but so does his family. Where does his duty lie? His choice will cause catastrophic ripples no matter which path he follows ... and could very well bring the loss of his loved ones or his life.

Will the cost of defending king and country prove too steep for this warrior?

ISBN: 979 8985328363

Publisher: Trefoil Publishing

Formats: e-book and paperback

No. of Pages: 538

The Excerpt

Unable to sleep, Jacek was up before dawn lightened the horizon and made his way to the

makeshift stable. Jarosława lifted her majestic gray head. Stroking her nose, he nuzzled her cheek. “You and I together once more, old girl.” He was loath to take her into battle, but Heban would get them killed, and his other horses were not trained for war. If he was to live out the day, he needed a mount he could rely on. Only Jarosława would do.

Next he went in search of a priest to hear his confession and found himself in a line of soldiers with the same thought. He held in an ironic chuckle. Only before men were to take the battlefield against their enemies would one find a line of soldiers ready to confess their sins.

Later, he was among the same soldiers attending Mass in the open air. As the gathering broke up, he asked Henryk if he had been shriven. Henryk snorted. “No. It would take far too long and keep others from being absolved who deserve it far more than I.”

At noon, the sky was bright and calm—preternaturally peaceful despite the drummers and trumpeters—as the troops began filing into formation. Watching his lord-brothers as they took their positions always swelled his chest with pride. Surely the Commonwealth’s best stock were right before him, their backs straight and strong, their jaws set in determination, their grip on their kopie firm. Hussar wings rose from their armor backplates or their cantles, and they rustled ominously in the breeze.

The mystery of his own misplaced wings had not resolved, and he felt their loss upon his back, as though he were without armor and exposed.

He looked out over a sea of crimson and feathers and darkly glinting armor amid flags and banners of the Crown army. And he was part of their majesty as he stood behind them, ready to command.

He glanced behind him, seeking out Filip. When he didn’t spy him behind the rampart and the line of infantry, he darted his eyes toward Rogowski’s regiment on his right, where it was positioned at the rear of the rolling stock with the Moldavians. His gaze found Wronski, whose face held no smirk. It was pure ferocity, like a snarling panther waiting to be let out of its cage, and strangely, Jacek was comforted.

As he surveyed the rolling stocks, the regiments between, and the field beyond where the enemy forces lay in wait, Jacek was overwhelmed by an odd sensation: Here were the most powerful warriors on both sides, lining up to kill and be killed. A scene that would soon devolve into bloody chaos was eerily orderly at the midway point of this otherwise ordinary September day.

Why?

Was fighting for one’s country and basking in the honor that came with it worth theheartache it cost in exchange?

A soldier’s gasp of “Look at them all!” pulled him from his thoughts. He took stock of the spread of the enemy.

Spirit of God! So many!

Banners snapping in the wind announced not only Iskender Pasha’s force but Kantymir Murza’s Tatars, as well as others swelling their ranks.

Dear God, how will we defeat them?

No, he must not think it. How many times had he and his lord - brothers been thusly arrayed against a force far larger than their own, and how many times had they emerged victorious? Many times.

He had been younger then. Brasher. Fearless. Seduced by wearing the wings. Without the loves that now pinned his heart, he had been resolved to die for God and country, draped in glory. God had chosen to spare him, and Jacek prayed he would do so again.

Jarosława, bedecked in her silver and turquoise, shook her head and jangled.

We will prevail.

Jacek sought out the hetmans, gilded and proud, their bearded chins held high. Then came the signal: first a motion of Hetman Żółkiewski’s buława, followed by a blare of the trumpet and a roll of the drum that matched the thundering in his chest.

Blood whooshing through his head, he raised his sabre and shouted, “Remember Kłuszyn!”

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Available on Kindle Unlimited