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Authors: Sabrina Flynn
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crater—a tiny bud of life in desolation. Farin’s eyes widened. Another sprig emerged from the earth, and a third, uncurling, reaching towards the cold light. The buds unfolded and pale winter blossoms quivered with new life.
The sergeant gaped. But a distant grunt distracted him from wonder. The noise came from the gorge, between Keeling and himself. Farin notched an arrow, and peered cautiously into the blackness. A shadow moved. He could hear its labored breath, panting like a wounded bear. Small rocks were knocked loose and a muttered oath named the shadow. A moment later, the berserker climbed into the light, moving swiftly up the wall.
A bloodied hand slapped the top. With a growl, the berserker pulled himself over the edge, rolling onto solid ground. Oenghus lay on his back, panting. He was battered and broken and covered in ichor. Dazed and utterly unaware, the giant’s chest heaved, he groaned, and rolled onto all fours hacking up blood.
Farin drew back his string at the same moment that the Knight Captain moved forward with drawn sword. In one practiced motion, Keeling brought his sword up like an executioner’s axe.
Time is a strange thing. For Farin Thatcher—time slowed. He was aware of every breath, every flurry dancing with a smote of ash; he heard the shift of armor and the slice of air. The soldier could see the Nuthaanian reacting with what seemed like glacier speed. But most of all, Farin saw the trio of blossoms that had unfurled their white petals like sails after a storm. Without thought, Farin loosed his arrow.
Time surged. The arrow zipped, and the blade came down. Thatcher’s arrow pierced Keeling through the eye and ended in his brain. The force of the shot knocked Keeling off kilter, his blade went wide, slicing a trail down the barbarian’s prone back instead of through his neck.
The Knight Captain fell down dead. And Farin Thatcher froze, shocked at his own split second choice. The kilted berserker turned his head and looked at Farin with an eye that chilled his blood. Oenghus grabbed the paladin’s sword and staggered to his feet. He let the tip of the sword rest on the earth where he stood swaying and panting, gathering his strength.
Berserkers were notorious for cutting down friend and foe alike. But Farin was no longer frightened, he was petrified as realization slammed fully into his muddled mind—he had disobeyed orders and murdered a Knight Captain of the Blessed Order. By the gods, he’d be better off throwing himself over the edge and have a quick clean death. Let the gorge take him. The Blessed Order was notorious for its drawn out executions.
Farin did not know what to do. He wanted to run, but feared the berserker would charge if he moved. Blazing sapphire eyes held Farin rooted in place, and the giant raised his sword, looking like a fiendish guardian standing at the Gates of the Nine Halls.
“Keeling said you were bewitched,” Farin said, dropping his bow and raising his hands.
“What do you think?” the berserker rasped like Death herself.
“The flowers,” he blurted unintelligibly. He turned and pointed at the dainty, impossible trio that had now blossomed into a dozen. Nothing evil would give birth to life.
The berserker bared his teeth, stark white against the black of his beard. “So there are lad, so there are.” He tossed the sword away from him as if it were Blighted, giving it to the chasm. Oenghus nudged the Knight Captain with his boot. “Did this bastard have orders?”
Farin nodded.
“Thought so,” he grunted, and gave the corpse a good kick, sending it sprawling into the gorge. The paladin disappeared. “Too bad you didn’t get those orders before the honorable Knight Captain’s unfortunate accident, aye?”
The visions of torture faded away. The soldier nodded, and he finally remembered to breathe.
Reunion
“ WHERE IS MY Knight Captain?” the Inquisitor asked at the gates without preamble. For the first time in weeks, the
The sergeant gaped. But a distant grunt distracted him from wonder. The noise came from the gorge, between Keeling and himself. Farin notched an arrow, and peered cautiously into the blackness. A shadow moved. He could hear its labored breath, panting like a wounded bear. Small rocks were knocked loose and a muttered oath named the shadow. A moment later, the berserker climbed into the light, moving swiftly up the wall.
A bloodied hand slapped the top. With a growl, the berserker pulled himself over the edge, rolling onto solid ground. Oenghus lay on his back, panting. He was battered and broken and covered in ichor. Dazed and utterly unaware, the giant’s chest heaved, he groaned, and rolled onto all fours hacking up blood.
Farin drew back his string at the same moment that the Knight Captain moved forward with drawn sword. In one practiced motion, Keeling brought his sword up like an executioner’s axe.
Time is a strange thing. For Farin Thatcher—time slowed. He was aware of every breath, every flurry dancing with a smote of ash; he heard the shift of armor and the slice of air. The soldier could see the Nuthaanian reacting with what seemed like glacier speed. But most of all, Farin saw the trio of blossoms that had unfurled their white petals like sails after a storm. Without thought, Farin loosed his arrow.
Time surged. The arrow zipped, and the blade came down. Thatcher’s arrow pierced Keeling through the eye and ended in his brain. The force of the shot knocked Keeling off kilter, his blade went wide, slicing a trail down the barbarian’s prone back instead of through his neck.
The Knight Captain fell down dead. And Farin Thatcher froze, shocked at his own split second choice. The kilted berserker turned his head and looked at Farin with an eye that chilled his blood. Oenghus grabbed the paladin’s sword and staggered to his feet. He let the tip of the sword rest on the earth where he stood swaying and panting, gathering his strength.
Berserkers were notorious for cutting down friend and foe alike. But Farin was no longer frightened, he was petrified as realization slammed fully into his muddled mind—he had disobeyed orders and murdered a Knight Captain of the Blessed Order. By the gods, he’d be better off throwing himself over the edge and have a quick clean death. Let the gorge take him. The Blessed Order was notorious for its drawn out executions.
Farin did not know what to do. He wanted to run, but feared the berserker would charge if he moved. Blazing sapphire eyes held Farin rooted in place, and the giant raised his sword, looking like a fiendish guardian standing at the Gates of the Nine Halls.
“Keeling said you were bewitched,” Farin said, dropping his bow and raising his hands.
“What do you think?” the berserker rasped like Death herself.
“The flowers,” he blurted unintelligibly. He turned and pointed at the dainty, impossible trio that had now blossomed into a dozen. Nothing evil would give birth to life.
The berserker bared his teeth, stark white against the black of his beard. “So there are lad, so there are.” He tossed the sword away from him as if it were Blighted, giving it to the chasm. Oenghus nudged the Knight Captain with his boot. “Did this bastard have orders?”
Farin nodded.
“Thought so,” he grunted, and gave the corpse a good kick, sending it sprawling into the gorge. The paladin disappeared. “Too bad you didn’t get those orders before the honorable Knight Captain’s unfortunate accident, aye?”
The visions of torture faded away. The soldier nodded, and he finally remembered to breathe.
Reunion
“ WHERE IS MY Knight Captain?” the Inquisitor asked at the gates without preamble. For the first time in weeks, the
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