“There’s citizens too,” Lerela said, jogging up to the travellers with clinking armour. The rolling beige fields of the savanna had given way to copses of trees and scattered swamps, but the denser vegetation did not hide the troop that was approaching Aralim’s companionship from the west.
“Citizens, marching at such a pace?” Grendar questioned. Continue reading Aralim 81
“Enough,” Karsef said, panting. He’d been sparring with Asar, primarily using his left hand. The right hand was out of its sling now, but it was still sore. He did a few easy bouts with the healing arm, but wanted to keep up his skill with his left, as much as was possible.
Ren sipped his canteen again, the small wooden nozzle filling his mouth with bitter water. Their little camp was nothing but a ring of sleeping cots and trampled dirt. It was past time to roll up their beds and The duelers paced around one another, breathing heavily. Continue reading Renado 34
Sparks occasionally spiraled into the air, coiled over the cookfire by the cone-roof of the Cani hut. The hole in the roof was darker than the wooden boards, which caught the glow and resembled the sizzling slabs of meat over the open flames. Neeko liked the warmth, especially on his stiff muscles and joints. So far, that was the only side effect he had noticed to his new diet of kibroot. Continue reading Neeko 3
The way back to New Mallam was across as many pensive silences as it was sprawling woodlands. Moments of humour were as rare as sightings of cowering banditry, while the errant rays of sunlight fell dimly on Farek’s scowling temper. The travellers, a thousand miles from home, saw some of the Baron’s soldiers a few times, fleeing north-east along with them. The smoky scar on the horizon soon faded, but the memory of the fiery House of Kiaraka did not.
It was Matek who voiced the question first, as they strode down a rocky shale slope on the approach to New Mallam’s walls. “Will we return home now?” he asked. Continue reading Farek 37
This wasn’t the first time Aralim walked with a limp, but it was the first time in a long time. He had switched back to carrying his lantern staff today, two weeks after Mulio’s knife had embedded in his thigh. He felt as though he had been stronger yesterday, with a proper cane, while his showy staff put a little more weight on the healing muscles.
He blinked, as he realized how lost he had become in the sensations, testing each step to see how it felt. Lerela and Yovin walked in the lead, with Dullah and Devran murmuring to one another as they walked. They’d been continuing a discussion of some sort since yesterday—Aralim had overheard tidbits, but he got the distinct impression it was a conversation for the two of them only. He hadn’t eavesdropped on anything to suggest that was the case, but they hadn’t made any attempt to include him yet. It was still better than the silence that had followed their stashing of several red-badged bodies in the foliage. Continue reading Aralim 80
Jorik the Embalmer sat cross-legged in Arn’s hut, a pained expression on his face. The man’s greying hair and constant, eerie stench, made it hard for Arn to focus. The chief of Razaad rested on the balls of his feet, muscles stretching as he balanced there. He regarded the healer and mortician with a stern squint and a neck stiff from his body trying to keep up with all the training he did. “Do you have an apprentice?” he asked.
“N-No,” Jorik stammered. “That’s not what we were speaking about.” Continue reading Arn 38
A stock slashed the tall bush with a machete, scattering wide leaves onto the ferns he had trampled. The warrior wore a skirt of long, rectangular beads over his loincloth, while the patterns of artwork on his shoulders, like holes in the forest canopy, were splattered by water droplets. The stock took another step forward and hacked at the wall of foliage again. Continue reading Neeko 2
Between the massive ridge-like walls of Ith the rising slope of Pranan’s Hill barely seemed like a hill at all. This was compounded by the thousand structures built upon it—towers manned by archers, estates attended by armies of servants, and sprawling commercial shops invaded by the privileged citizens of the district, hose citizens who had never tried to revolt because they owned slaves and because their assets were protected by the Mage Kings. Continue reading Renado 33
The buzzing of insects zipped over the rainforest, silenced only by the occasional whining of pygmy tyrants and the nighthawk’s whistle. A big drop of water, finally welling proud enough, slipped from a leaf in the canopy above and scattered itself on a rounded rock near Neeko’s leg. The distinct plop, though not the first, made him blink. It wasn’t that he was easily startled, nor was it fatigue. Neeko drummed his fingers against the handle of the old hacking knife braced between his knees and the mossy rocks he sat upon. Continue reading Neeko 1
The taste of blood filled Arn’s mouth as he bit his lip. He cursed, loudly, and pressed his tongue to the spot. Joroth looked at him cautiously, pausing with a slice of roasted wing hovering near his mouth. Arn’s temper had been more severe than the morning’s rainstorm all day. Everyone around him knew it. Continue reading Arn 37