waving swords is something I understand. This . . .’ he waved a hand at the approaching party ‘. . . casual harvesting is something else. It suggests supreme confidence, does it not?’
‘So why would they stop to talk to you?’
‘A couple of reasons. One, everyone is open to a bargain of some sort and I cannot believe we have nothing to offer them. Two, if they don’t, I will attack them. They are not setting foot on my land.’
Blackthorne raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’ve said a dozen times. But we are not equipped for a fight. Gods drowning, I’m here on a relaxing wine-drinking break. I have none of my regular soldiers with me, and my armour is trail dusty at best.’
‘What choice do I have?’
‘Well, let my mages take them out from a distance. We need never get involved. You know it makes sense.’
‘I’m surprised at you, Blackthorne. You were always a man who liked to negotiate.’
‘That was before the demons came.’
‘These are not demons,’ said Gresse.
‘How can you be sure? And if your feelings are to be believed, they’re even worse.’
Gresse’s eyes narrowed. ‘This isn’t like you, Blackthorne. How would it be if they were approaching your vines, eh? Kill from a distance, is it? It’s like you’ve lost your nerve.’
Blackthorne felt a surge through his body and bit back his first words. He leaned close to Gresse, his eyes boring into the older man’s bright gaze.
‘Damn right I lost my nerve. I watched the demons take my lands, my town and the souls of my people. I heard them battering on the doors of my castle. I had to stay strong for the ever-dwindling number of survivors. I lost my dearest friends, my closest advisers and I lost my Luke. Taken from right under my nose.
‘Right up until the end they hammered and picked and gathered ground. Each day they gained strength while we weakened. We were alone, barricaded into the kitchens in the final days. Twenty thousand reduced to a paltry handful. Men so terrified by the relentless grind and the knowledge that a single touch meant perpetual torment that it was only memory that kept them going, kept them fighting.
‘All the while, the demons delighted in our suffering. They knew our souls were as good as theirs and they waited for the inevitable. They could taste the fear; they breathed it, exulted in it. Day after long, tortured day. Night after desperate night. No respite, no rest, no salvation. No hope.’
Blackthorne’s hands were clutched tight around the reins of his horse and trembling violently. He straightened in his saddle, trying to calm himself. But the visions flooded him. The masses outside his defensive spell ring, clawing to get in. The demon master, Ferouc, chilling and determined. The hordes of baying minions waiting their chance. His people standing with him even though they must have known he could not save them. Fighting and falling at his side. Luke, cold and dead in a place Blackthorne had told him was safe.
‘But you did it. You won.’ Gresse’s voice was quiet and gentle.
Blackthorne scoffed. ‘Won? It was not victory. Not for us. Survival of the very few because The Raven did what had to be done and laid down their lives for us all.’
‘It is what we all had to do,’ said Gresse. ‘Just try to stay alive and pray someone would do something to free us. We had to make sure there was still a Balaian people to rebuild. We had to make sure there was something left.’
‘I cannot shake the nightmares, Gresse. I have forgotten what a peaceful night’s sleep is. They left so little behind. And that is why we cannot afford to talk to those who would take what we still have. That is why you should be pounding them with Cleansing Flame and Winter’s Touch. Ripping their flesh with IceBlades.’
Gresse reached out a gloved hand and squeezed Blackthorne’s forearm through his riding coat.
‘I will be forever sorry I was not standing with you, old friend.’
‘You had your own
‘So why would they stop to talk to you?’
‘A couple of reasons. One, everyone is open to a bargain of some sort and I cannot believe we have nothing to offer them. Two, if they don’t, I will attack them. They are not setting foot on my land.’
Blackthorne raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’ve said a dozen times. But we are not equipped for a fight. Gods drowning, I’m here on a relaxing wine-drinking break. I have none of my regular soldiers with me, and my armour is trail dusty at best.’
‘What choice do I have?’
‘Well, let my mages take them out from a distance. We need never get involved. You know it makes sense.’
‘I’m surprised at you, Blackthorne. You were always a man who liked to negotiate.’
‘That was before the demons came.’
‘These are not demons,’ said Gresse.
‘How can you be sure? And if your feelings are to be believed, they’re even worse.’
Gresse’s eyes narrowed. ‘This isn’t like you, Blackthorne. How would it be if they were approaching your vines, eh? Kill from a distance, is it? It’s like you’ve lost your nerve.’
Blackthorne felt a surge through his body and bit back his first words. He leaned close to Gresse, his eyes boring into the older man’s bright gaze.
‘Damn right I lost my nerve. I watched the demons take my lands, my town and the souls of my people. I heard them battering on the doors of my castle. I had to stay strong for the ever-dwindling number of survivors. I lost my dearest friends, my closest advisers and I lost my Luke. Taken from right under my nose.
‘Right up until the end they hammered and picked and gathered ground. Each day they gained strength while we weakened. We were alone, barricaded into the kitchens in the final days. Twenty thousand reduced to a paltry handful. Men so terrified by the relentless grind and the knowledge that a single touch meant perpetual torment that it was only memory that kept them going, kept them fighting.
‘All the while, the demons delighted in our suffering. They knew our souls were as good as theirs and they waited for the inevitable. They could taste the fear; they breathed it, exulted in it. Day after long, tortured day. Night after desperate night. No respite, no rest, no salvation. No hope.’
Blackthorne’s hands were clutched tight around the reins of his horse and trembling violently. He straightened in his saddle, trying to calm himself. But the visions flooded him. The masses outside his defensive spell ring, clawing to get in. The demon master, Ferouc, chilling and determined. The hordes of baying minions waiting their chance. His people standing with him even though they must have known he could not save them. Fighting and falling at his side. Luke, cold and dead in a place Blackthorne had told him was safe.
‘But you did it. You won.’ Gresse’s voice was quiet and gentle.
Blackthorne scoffed. ‘Won? It was not victory. Not for us. Survival of the very few because The Raven did what had to be done and laid down their lives for us all.’
‘It is what we all had to do,’ said Gresse. ‘Just try to stay alive and pray someone would do something to free us. We had to make sure there was still a Balaian people to rebuild. We had to make sure there was something left.’
‘I cannot shake the nightmares, Gresse. I have forgotten what a peaceful night’s sleep is. They left so little behind. And that is why we cannot afford to talk to those who would take what we still have. That is why you should be pounding them with Cleansing Flame and Winter’s Touch. Ripping their flesh with IceBlades.’
Gresse reached out a gloved hand and squeezed Blackthorne’s forearm through his riding coat.
‘I will be forever sorry I was not standing with you, old friend.’
‘You had your own
Similar Books
