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By Kate Danley

Deep in the wooden, a tender girl lies lifeless. now not a mark on her physique. No hint of her assassin. in basic terms her chipped glass slippers trace at her identification.

The Woodcutter, keeper of the peace among the Twelve Kingdoms of guy and the Realm of the Faerie, needs to locate the maiden’s killer earlier than others proportion her destiny. Guided by means of the wind and aided by means of 3 charmed axes gained from the River God, the Woodcutter starts his hunt, looking for clues within the whispering dominions of the enchanted unknown.

But speedy he reveals that one murdered maiden isn't the simply nefarious secret afoot: certainly one of Odin’s hellhounds has escaped, a sinister mansion seems the place it shouldn’t, a pixie dirt drug alternate runs rampant, and extra younger ladies move lacking. Looming within the shadows is the malevolent, power-hungry queen, and she or he will cease at not anything to wreck the Twelve Kingdoms and annihilate the Royal Fae…unless the Woodcutter can outmaneuver her and shop the mild souls of the wooden.

Blending magic, heart-pounding suspense, and a splash of folklore, The Woodcutter is a rare retelling of the world of fairy tales.

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He checked out front door and on the staircase. He made up our minds to take the steps taking place. A door blocked his method. The power surged down his hands and he blasted the wooden together with his fingers. The time for video games used to be performed. He strode into the room, however the sight stopped in his tracks. hundreds of thousands of eyes became to him, hundreds of thousands of black eyes begging for mercy. Iron cages hung from the ceiling and covered the partitions a number of tales excessive. within pixies hovered in exhaustion, clinging to each other and attempting desperately to not brush opposed to the iron bars. a few had fallen upon the flooring in their cages, exhausted. Their faces rested upon the chilly iron, uncaring in their hot flesh. Many eyes now not opened. underneath the cages, receptacles collected the falling dirt and funneled it right into a gap within the flooring. Quiet surprise took over. The Woodcutter threw his pack on a desk to unfastened his arms and started unlatching the easy locks that the pixies couldn't contact. He unlatched the cages and opened the doorways. The pixies started to fly out, yet a ways too many hovered in basic terms inches clear of the floor, a long way too many nonetheless lay upon their cage flooring, a long way too many have been too vulnerable to save lots of themselves. The Woodcutter reached into the cages, deciding upon up as many as he might. The greater pixies watched him and attempted to mimic his efforts, attempted to choose up the injured so they can be carried to security. yet there have been too many, there have been too many to save lots of and, because the Woodcutter regarded round, he discovered there has been no window within the room. He stood, palms filled with pixies, understanding the Queen may possibly go back at any second. that they had to get out, yet there has been now not sufficient time, he used to be now not adequate to save lots of them. His hands have been complete, filled with tiny our bodies gasping for breath. Their our bodies shivered like child birds. He appeared round desperately for support, while his eyes fell upon a well-recognized form within the farthest nook of a cluttered shelf that hung above the desk the place he had thrown his pack. The harp. She used to be motioning to him, attempting to tug anything out from inside of. The Woodcutter ran over, simply because the harp pulled out a wide brown bag. The reward from the woman in Blue. He knew what to do. He positioned the pixies down upon the desk as lightly as a father with an afternoon outdated infant. He unfolded the bag’s yawning mouth and became to the room, bellowing to all of the fae, “All you pixies, get into my bag! ” A amazing twister swept into the room. Like an invisible hand, the wind picked the pixies from the air and swept them contained in the bag. In they flew, one after one other. They flew from all corners of the room. They flew so thick, he couldn't see during the hurricane of our bodies. while the final pixie disappeared from the final cage, the Woodcutter closed the bag. It weighed little greater than while it used to be empty. He threw it over his shoulder as he checked out the harp in thank you. He stowed her rigorously away after which he ran. He heard the Queen’s voice realize his break out. He heard her howls of anger and rage. Footsteps rang at the back of him, so he ran in the direction of the silence, ran up the curved stone staircase.

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