Art Of War Book Novels & Stories

she said without turning, voice steady but sharp. Ari was stretched out on the couch, shotgun leaning against his knee. His head lolled back, but his eyes were open, bloodshot and hollow. “I stayed up watching the treeline,” he muttered. “Swear I saw movement more than once.” “Paranoia,” Kael said flatly. He leaned against the counter, folding his arms, but his gaze flicked to the window as if to check for himself. “It ain’t paranoia if they were here,” Ari shot back.

When the battle is over, you're supposed to return home, and life slowly drifts back into a normal, mundane routine. No more fighting. No more bloodshed. No more death. That was supposed to be normal. At least for normal people that would be normal. However, Rhychard Bartlett, Warrior of the Way, understood that he could no longer be considered a normal person. That life ended four months ago. Now, his normal consisted of faeries and gnomes and demons and dark elves, some fighting alongside him, some fighting against him. His normal would blow most people's minds.

Jade lowered her hand. “I beg your pardon?” “The painting,” the man said. “Don’t you just love it?” “I see…” Jade said, turning her attention back towards the painting. “I think I do. It’s really pretty. I wonder what it’s about?” “It shows the Emperor of Heaven surrounded by the Holy Beasts,” the man continued. The man smiled before clearing his throat. “Well, the ancient Chinese people believed that the world was ruled by a deity who they called the Yellow Emperor.”

But on the lower shelf, pushed toward the back like something filed away rather than stored, I found it. No title on the spine. I pulled it free and opened the cover. “ A Complete Record of the Human Management System as Established by the Wolf Council in the Third Year Following the Great War’s Cessation,” I read out loud to myself. Great War. The same war, Mye had mentioned. I carried the book to the chair by the dead fireplace and sat down. The first section was bureaucratic—council minutes, resource allocations, the dry language of people building something terrible and calling it policy. I moved through it quickly, scanning for substance.

I like taking my time, that way, I can get used to the idea of living with Xander. Sitting behind the counter in the bookstore, I listen to Vincent talking to his cars while I place an order for new books. One of those books is The Art of War by Sun Tsu. I want to read it and see why Alexei loves it so much. My thoughts turn to the BBQ, and I must admit, I enjoyed it a lot. And Rosemarie was right. Everyone seemed pretty normal. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe guns and men smoking cigars while plotting the end of the world?

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes. I’m going to shower, then get my schedule and some books. Maybe we can look through them and see what's in store for us. Yorick and I spend the afternoon going through our schedule. “I’ve never considered war an art,” I say, looking at the class titles Art of War. “Many do though,” Yorick says, flipping through his book. “There are lots of books on it.” I'm sitting on the small couch in my room. He'd pulled up a chair, pulling my legs over his lap. As we’ve talked and gone through our course schedule, his fingers had been gently running up and down my legs, periodically rubbing my feet as we talk. At some point, he’d extended his legs to the couch and I start

They stepped inside. Raven’s sharp blue eyes scanned the spines—titles in languages older than Arcadia Prime, bindings of shadow-leather and bone. Victoria moved with purpose, fingers trailing over volumes until she stopped before a thick tome bound in matte black hide that drank the light rather than reflected it. Silver script crawled across the cover like living veins: *Intricate Military Command of the Dead* *Advanced Studies in the Art of Necromantic Warfare* Raven reached up—standing on tiptoe—and pulled it free. The weight surprised her; this was no slim intermediate text. This was dense, heavy with diagrams of battlefield sigils, troop formations of the risen, rites for coordinating

And no knights. I started roaming around. Obviously, the first thing I went to were the shelves that occupied a whole wall. I started reading the titles of the book, and all of it was unrelated to the convent. I pulled one which was entitled The Art of War, there was no X- mark on its cover, and it was not dusty. Is she reading banned books too?

They were about who was left standing. I drained my glass, set it down carefully, and picked up my phone again. War wasn’t about battles. It was about stories. And I’d already started writing hers.

Shikhar is the head of the warriors and army and Adharva respected and loved him like his own brothers. "Your highness, this war will be destructive. If this goes on, both Kingdoms will destroy their own economies and will fall prey to the other Kings waiting for a sign of weakness," said Shikhar. Adharva was silent. "I have seen the warrior Eloy in battle now and as the head of the army, I can assure you that at the end of the war, only the warriors and the Emperors will remain," said Shikhar. Rishi was at the door. Shikhar looked down at the ground then. Adharva snorted inside at the by play. He had been seeing it since he was ten.