Blind Man’s Buff
A boy on the throne. A magical land under threat. Can he discover his own power in time to lead an army into battle?
At 14 years old, Londoner Nathan Bannister never thought he’d be the prince of a magical kingdom. Discovering he has his own special abilities, he hopes to use them to bring peace to Lashtang. But if he doesn’t learn quickly, his leadership may not survive an attack from vengeful wizards.
On his quest to save his new land, Nathan must escape a devious trick, fight off a three-headed dog. When he discovers that his throne’s enemies possess modern-day weapons, he knows Lashtang will fall without some serious help.
Can Nathan recruit an army of allies and use his fledgling magic to save the day, or will a long line of royals come to a terrible end?
Blind Man’s Buff is the third book in the Bannister’s Muster middle-grade fantasy series. If you and your child like exciting magic, fierce battles, and fantastical creatures, then you’ll love Barbara Gaskell Denvil’s fast-paced adventure.
Buy Blind Man’s Buff to take on an army of evil wizards today!
A short excerpt from Chapter One
Bent double, keeping his head down and keeping to the shadows, John edged down the alleyway, watching for the first possible silver flash of magic in the air, while listening for any passing gossip that might be important. He could smell the rank sliding sludge in the gutters, the stale beer when passing doorways of inns and taverns, and the sweat of the people pushing past him. But that didn’t worry him. He was working hard at the one thing that mattered.
He was covered in mud from his hair to his feet. It slipped down his face, stuck in his eyelashes and trickled over his nose, so he kept his mouth firmly shut. He didn’t want a breakfast of thick sludge. It squelched up between his toes. Ten toes. He almost laughed, but this was no laughing matter.
The City of Pegandar closely resembled medieval London, in some places so closely that he almost started looking for Bishopsgate, and Alice’s home where he could have a wash and change his clothes. But the mud served its purpose. He was part of the Resistance Movement, and needed anonymity. He was a shadow amongst shadows. And that was the way it was supposed to be.
He could hear Alice, but he couldn’t see her. Avoiding where he knew she sat, he crept the other way. She was sitting dressed in rags, cross-legged on the dirty cobbles, with her hair in tangles and dirt on her face. She was singing in a fine, high voice and placed on the ground before her was a battered hat, turned upside down, to collect the coins that passersby might throw to her in sympathy. They were Peter’s fine compositions that she sang, none of which had ever been heard in Lashtang before, so the hat was almost full. Lashtang money, each copper coin, was heavy. But it wasn’t the money Alice truly wanted. It was the gossip she heard while sitting there, and the people she saw meeting in the old house opposite. Meanwhile at some distance away across the city, Peter, dressed in a dirty old tunic with a torn hem and big wooden clogs, was on another street corner, playing his beautiful lute, carefully watching the pluck of his fingers while he played, but listening only for the gossip in the passing crowds.
Sam sat on the doorstep of a grand house overlooking the high stone wall that surrounded the city. He was also dressed in rags and looked even more of a beggar than he had in London when he truly was a penniless orphan. He pretended to be half asleep, but he too was listening for any important conversations between the men passing by.