Read Online The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born) by Drew Karpyshyn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Drew Karpyshyn
Ads: Link
bright, fiery red.
“She attacked me,” Berlen said, speaking slowly. “She was … mad. I had to kill her. I had no choice.”
“Did she say anything?” Roggen asked. “Anything that might tell us who she was?”
Berlen shook his head. “She was a Southlander,” he said. “A young blond woman.”
Something about the whole situation felt very wrong to Roggen, but he wasn’t sure why. It almost felt like Berlen was lying, but he couldn’t come up with any reason for his friend to do so.
“Maybe we should go examine the body,” he wondered aloud. “Maybe there’s some clue as to who she was or why she was here.”
“The storm won’t hold off much longer,” Berlen countered. “We should finish dressing the kill and get the meat back to the camp.”
“You’re right,” Roggen agreed after a moment’s consideration. “We have more important things to worry about.
“Give me a hand,” he added, dropping to one knee, his suspicions swept away by his desire to finish skinning his kill before the storm hit.
Chapter 7
F ROM ATOP THE plateau, Scythe watched the rays of the early-evening sun crawling away from them toward the distant horizon. The temperature was already beginning to drop as the sun retreated, and dark storm clouds were rolling in. Remembering the frigid chill of the previous nights, she pressed herself close against Norr. The barbarian responded by wrapping his massive arms around her, swallowing her up.
She reveled in the heat of his fleshy embrace, knowing he would soon have to abandon her to take a turn on watch in case the Inquisitors camped below tried to sneak up on them under the cover of night.
Not very damn likely. Not when they can just wait us out
.
They’d been trapped on the
Gerscheld
for three days now. They passed their time in silence. They had no food and no water, and there was nothing important enough to say that was worth wasting the spit required to speak. The only sound was the rumbling of their empty stomachs—a pointless objection by their bodies. They all knew they’d die of dehydration long before starvation took them. It was hard to imagine a worse way to go.
On the second day the fog that had surrounded them since leaving the Danaan forest had lifted, swept away by a harsh eastern front bringing the year’s first real taste of winter. That night they huddled against the stones for shelter, shivering as the icy windwhipped across the plateau, bringing with it a burst of half-frozen rain. Pelted by the stinging drops, Scythe decided dying of thirst might be preferable to succumbing to exposure and hypothermia.
Perched high above the surrounding terrain, the temperature atop the
Gerscheld
had to feel twenty degrees colder than what the Inquisitors were dealing with down below. The conditions made sleep almost impossible, and by morning the hours of uncontrollable shivering had left her feeling utterly exhausted.
Today had been spent much like the first two—grim and silent as they waited for the inevitable: hungry, thirsty, and very, very cold. Every few hours another storm would roll through, bringing more rain and sleet. With another night rapidly approaching and more dark clouds looming in the distance, Scythe knew they couldn’t hold out much longer.
She cast her gaze over the others, taking in the hopelessness and defeat etched on their features. Then her eyes fell on Keegan. The frail wizard lay on his side, huddled in a tight ball pressed up against the edge of one of the standing stones. He hadn’t moved since the morning. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Every few minutes his body would jerk or twitch and a soft, pitiful moan would escape his lips. Otherwise he was still and silent as the dead.
He might not make it to morning
, Scythe realized.
And in another couple of days, we’ll all be in the same state
.
Summoning the last of her reserves, Scythe shook off the deadweight of Norr’s arms and struggled to her
“She attacked me,” Berlen said, speaking slowly. “She was … mad. I had to kill her. I had no choice.”
“Did she say anything?” Roggen asked. “Anything that might tell us who she was?”
Berlen shook his head. “She was a Southlander,” he said. “A young blond woman.”
Something about the whole situation felt very wrong to Roggen, but he wasn’t sure why. It almost felt like Berlen was lying, but he couldn’t come up with any reason for his friend to do so.
“Maybe we should go examine the body,” he wondered aloud. “Maybe there’s some clue as to who she was or why she was here.”
“The storm won’t hold off much longer,” Berlen countered. “We should finish dressing the kill and get the meat back to the camp.”
“You’re right,” Roggen agreed after a moment’s consideration. “We have more important things to worry about.
“Give me a hand,” he added, dropping to one knee, his suspicions swept away by his desire to finish skinning his kill before the storm hit.
Chapter 7
F ROM ATOP THE plateau, Scythe watched the rays of the early-evening sun crawling away from them toward the distant horizon. The temperature was already beginning to drop as the sun retreated, and dark storm clouds were rolling in. Remembering the frigid chill of the previous nights, she pressed herself close against Norr. The barbarian responded by wrapping his massive arms around her, swallowing her up.
She reveled in the heat of his fleshy embrace, knowing he would soon have to abandon her to take a turn on watch in case the Inquisitors camped below tried to sneak up on them under the cover of night.
Not very damn likely. Not when they can just wait us out
.
They’d been trapped on the
Gerscheld
for three days now. They passed their time in silence. They had no food and no water, and there was nothing important enough to say that was worth wasting the spit required to speak. The only sound was the rumbling of their empty stomachs—a pointless objection by their bodies. They all knew they’d die of dehydration long before starvation took them. It was hard to imagine a worse way to go.
On the second day the fog that had surrounded them since leaving the Danaan forest had lifted, swept away by a harsh eastern front bringing the year’s first real taste of winter. That night they huddled against the stones for shelter, shivering as the icy windwhipped across the plateau, bringing with it a burst of half-frozen rain. Pelted by the stinging drops, Scythe decided dying of thirst might be preferable to succumbing to exposure and hypothermia.
Perched high above the surrounding terrain, the temperature atop the
Gerscheld
had to feel twenty degrees colder than what the Inquisitors were dealing with down below. The conditions made sleep almost impossible, and by morning the hours of uncontrollable shivering had left her feeling utterly exhausted.
Today had been spent much like the first two—grim and silent as they waited for the inevitable: hungry, thirsty, and very, very cold. Every few hours another storm would roll through, bringing more rain and sleet. With another night rapidly approaching and more dark clouds looming in the distance, Scythe knew they couldn’t hold out much longer.
She cast her gaze over the others, taking in the hopelessness and defeat etched on their features. Then her eyes fell on Keegan. The frail wizard lay on his side, huddled in a tight ball pressed up against the edge of one of the standing stones. He hadn’t moved since the morning. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Every few minutes his body would jerk or twitch and a soft, pitiful moan would escape his lips. Otherwise he was still and silent as the dead.
He might not make it to morning
, Scythe realized.
And in another couple of days, we’ll all be in the same state
.
Summoning the last of her reserves, Scythe shook off the deadweight of Norr’s arms and struggled to her
Similar Books
