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       Where did he go…?

      Annja peered around the edge of the reef and the shadow was gone.

      It really was almost as if the unknown figure had disappeared right off the coral reef.

      What were the chances that he’d been taken by a shark? She shook her head. No, there’d be some sort of evidence of an attack. His oxygen tanks would be lying on the ocean floor. His weight belt would have been shredded.

      Annja’s mouth went dry and she glanced down at her oxygen gauge.

      It was running close to empty.

      She needed to get back to the boat. But in the next instant, she knew where the shadow had vanished to.

      He’d resurfaced.

      The boat engine roared overhead, its sound muffled through the water, but Annja glanced up and saw the white foam as the boat suddenly shot back the way they had come out.

      Leaving Annja all alone in the dark ocean.

      Titles in this series:

      Destiny

      Solomon’s Jar

      The Spider Stone

      The Chosen

      Forbidden City

      The Lost Scrolls

      God of Thunder

      Secret of the Slaves

      Warrior Spirit

      Serpent’s Kiss

      Provenance

      The Soul Stealer

      Gabriel’s Horn

      The Golden Elephant

      Swordsman’s Legacy

      Polar Quest

      Eternal Journey

      Sacrifice

      Seeker’s Curse

      Footprints

      Paradox

      The Spirit Banner

      Sacred Ground

      The Bone Conjurer

      Tribal Ways

      The Dragon’s Mark

      Phantom Prospect

      Restless Soul

      False Horizon

      The Other Crowd

      Tear of the Gods

      The Oracle’s Message

      Rogue Angel_™

      The Oracle’s Message

      Alex Archer

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      THE LEGEND

      …THE ENGLISH COMMANDER TOOK

       JOAN’S SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.

      The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.

      Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.

      Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn….

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Epilogue

      1

      The turquoise waters of the South China Sea swirled into the flow of the Mindoro Strait and the Sulu Sea to the south, bobbing the small catamaran over gentle swells. The motion was almost hypnotizing to a very tired but very relaxed Annja Creed as she steered toward the GPS coordinates she’d punched in for a little-visited coral reef off the northeastern part of Palawan in the Philippines.

      She’d fled New York City two days earlier, amid a stretch of work that had left her positively drained and eager for any excuse to leave town. Sharing a bottle of Santa Margherita pinot grigio with her good friend Bart McGilley, she’d remembered that she’d wanted to go diving in the Philippines for a long time. On her last trip there, the terrorist group Abu Sayyaf had cut that dream short by taking her hostage and Annja had seen a lot more of the tropical rain-forest jungles of the south than she ever wanted to see again.

      In the wake of her experience, she’d found out that the government had rounded up a lot of the Abu Sayyaf followers and most experts considered the group fairly neutralized. Annja knew there was a chance they’d regroup, but for the time being, they were content to lie low.

      And that seemed like enough of an opening for Annja.

      The twenty-two-hour flight from New York with a brief layover in Osaka, Japan, had left her even more tired, but the thought of some alone time and diving at the little-known coral reef inspired her.

      She’d flown from Manila to the southwest island of Palawan, jutting out into the South China Sea. She and her fellow tourists had landed on a small dusty airstrip that looked like it might have been used for smuggling, transferred to a jeepney—one of the gaudily decorated World War II U.S. Army jeeps that had been converted into buses—and bounced their way through a stretch of jungle down to a river.

      On the river, a small boat snaked along the tributary until they emerged into a bay. Once there, they transferred to a larger boat that skimmed its way across the waves toward the island of Apulit. As they’d neared the shore, Annja heard music and saw the resort workers coming down to the beach strumming

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