The Lazarus Vault by Tom Harper

By Tom Harper

From the writer of The misplaced Temple, one other gripping action-packed mystery within the bestselling culture of The Da Vinci Code and Codex
 
Deep within the center of London, the Monsalvat financial institution is small, secretive, and fabulously prosperous. while Ellie Stanton, an impoverished graduate scholar, is without notice invited to affix the enterprise, the privileged international they provide appears to be like too strong to show down—but the financial institution is greater than it sort of feels. quickly Ellie realizes that her existence belongs to her employers, and that they're looking at her each circulation, for buried of their medieval vaults lies a closely-guarded treasure of immeasurable power—one inextricably sure up with Ellie's personal background. Now Ellie is in a race opposed to time, hunted by means of the financial institution and pursued by means of her earlier, her in basic terms wish of break out to unearth the key hidden within the vault—but stepping into is simply the beginning.

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He remounted his horse and spurred towards his enemy. Their lances bent like bows and shattered; they drew their swords, laying about each other with such fury that wood splintered, iron split and both horses were killed. The knight pummelled his opponent until every lace of his armour was broken. At last, he struck off his helmet and knocked him to the ground. ‘“Mercy,” his enemy pleaded. ‘But the damsel demanded his head, and the knight obeyed. His blow fell hard; the head flew out onto the heath and the body crumpled.

Nobody believes that will be the end of it. The Welsh love their honour and they love fighting. Ralph says we’ll be safe in our castle, but my father looks grim. He says that when you keep behind castle walls, your enemies know where to find you. I think: if our sheep can break through the palisades, what would the Welsh do? It often rains in Wales, but in my memory it is always the last day of spring. My father and Ralph were away last night and haven’t returned; Brother Oswald has been called away to his monastery, and I have taken my horse into the forest.

My father and Ralph were away last night and haven’t returned; Brother Oswald has been called away to his monastery, and I have taken my horse into the forest. I think I might visit the fields by the chapel, where the harrowers are working, but I am in no hurry. The trees are in flower and the shrubs in leaf; a gentle sun dapples the lush meadows. I get down from my horse and walk barefoot through the grass, which is green and velvet against my skin. I slip off my horse’s bridle and let him graze freely.

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