Read Online Witchbreaker (Dragon Apocalypse) by James Maxey - Free Book Online Page A

can work on his ribs.” Brand shifted around, placing both hands beneath the man’s shoulders. The man groaned as he was lifted. His eyes fluttered open, but were unfocused.
    “Can you understand me?” Sorrow asked. “We’re trying to help.”
    The man’s eyes fixed on her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the faintest hint of a brave smile flashed across his lips. Then he fainted once more.
    She wrapped his chest and ribs with the longest strips of the shirt, putting as much pressure as possible to close the wounds. The dragon’s claws had been sharp as razors, resulting in wounds that meshed together quite nicely with a little pressure. A cut with a duller instrument would have left torn and ragged edges that would have resisted her hurried attempts to close them.
    “Bigs—I mean, your highness, run to my tent and bring us blankets,” said Sorrow, as she helped Brand lay the warrior back down.
    “I’m not some common servant,” said Bigsby.
    “I’ll go get them,” Brand said wearily. He glanced at Sorrow and gave an apologetic shrug.
    Dusk dimmed into night as she continued working on the fallen warrior’s wounds. Brand built a fire and boiled water, then constructed an impromptu shelter of blankets, since Sorrow didn’t want to risk transporting the man to her tent. As she carefully cleaned each wound, she stitched them using fine silver wires no thicker than a hair. The man’s fever abated as she worked. Indeed, he was now cold and clammy to the touch. Despite their best efforts, he’d lost a lot of blood.
    The man slept through most of her treatment, though from time to time his eyes would flicker open. Once, he arched his back, gritting his teeth as he sucked in air. She’d grabbed his hand and he’d squeezed until she was certain her fingers would snap, before his spasm passed and he lapsed into stillness once more.
    “You’re good at this,” Brand said as he inspected the zig-zag stitches along the man’s ribs.
    “I wish I were better,” Sorrow said. “If I was a bone-weaver, I could manipulate bodies as if they were clay. Alas, I’ve never tracked down a living bone-weaver to learn the art. Still, I’ve learned a great deal about human anatomy. I was fortunate enough to study with Mama Knuckle, who has no peer as a necromancer.”
    “You studied necromancy?” She could tell from Brand’s tone that he equated necromancy with evil.
    Sorrow shrugged. “If she hadn’t taught me the art of soul catching, I couldn’t animate my golems.”
    Brand leaned over to the fire and poked at the logs with a stick. “Trapping the spirits of the dead seems, um, not nice.”
    “You were about to use a stronger word.”
    “I like to be diplomatic.”
    “You’re entitled to your opinion. The souls I capture are doomed spirits who would eventually fade from existence. It’s not as if I’m snatching souls off clouds in heaven.”
    “You believe in heaven?”
    “How can you not? You’ve been to the Sea of Wine. You have the evidence of your own senses to know that our world is surrounded by numerous abstract realms where the dead dwell for a time. Why shouldn’t heaven be among them?”
    “I didn’t think you believed in the teachings of the Church of the Book.”
    “What I believe is of no importance. The abstract realms are shaped from human collective consciousness. Hundreds of thousands of people believe in heaven, so they’ve no doubt created it by now.”
    “By that logic, shouldn’t the Divine Author exist as well? The same number of people believe in him.”
    “Perhaps he does exist.”
    “And you’d wage war against a god not noted for his tolerance of sinners?”
    “If there is a Divine Author, he’s the creation of men, reflecting all their flaws and weaknesses. He’s the embodiment of hatred and fear and injustice, and I shall fight to my dying breath to oppose him. If I have the courage to overthrow earthly kings, I can muster the will to battle a heavenly