“Meri!” Geneve stabbed her blade into the sand, dropping to a crouch before him. His hands were in front of his eyes, and blood leaked down his face. “Let me see.” Sight of Day was beside them faster than thought. The Feybrind’s fur soft hands pushed Geneve away gently, but very firmly. He touched Meriwether’s face, trying to coax the young man’s hands from his eyes. Meriwether hunched away, a low, anguished moan coming from him. Sight of Day glanced at Geneve. {Keep him calm. Try not to hit him again.} She watched him run into their shelter. “Meri? I’m sorry. I … it felt like I was being attacked.” She remembered the flow of the pattern, the weight of the blade in her hand, and the sun on her face. Geneve thought she was at peace for that timeless moment Read More …

Meriwether chewed the inside of his lip. “Could you be more specific?” “There’s not a lot of room for confusion, runt.” Armitage scratched an armpit. “You want food, we find someone who’s got it and punch it out of them.” “I got that part,” Meriwether said. They trudged along the sand. The sun’s hammer beat the cold right out of him. While the brutal frigid night left him aching, the blasting heat of day wasn’t much of an improvement. “The missing piece of the puzzle is where we might find people.” Geneve walked to his left, eyes downcast. “The horses need grain. We need water.” It was like she wasn’t listening to the conversation. She had bags under her eyes so deep Meriwether thought they might be bruised. Sleep wasn’t good for anyone, it seems. Only Sight of Day appeared well-rested, Read More …

After Kytto gave her Requiem, he’d told her to get a good night’s sleep. Geneve had no intention of doing that. Sleep wouldn’t help her now. Wincuf was already completing his Trial, and if the monster didn’t need sleep, neither did she. She snuck into the long hall of combat where the fight would take place tomorrow. Geneve knew she’d stand as Wincuf’s last fight. He’d have his eyes on her, working his way down the line of opponents with one thought. Kill Geneve. She knew he’d cut her down like a single blade of grass against the scythe. Geneve couldn’t use the Storm, and she was tiny. But Kytto taught her well over the years. How to fight with bare knuckles, or using a man’s weight against him. He’d said a weapon gave false confidence. Knights were full of Read More …

Geneve didn’t know why she felt angry. Since leaving the partnership of her fellow Knights, she’d felt… off balance. Like the ground beneath her feet swayed, or she’d taken too much summer wine. The colors seemed different, and her heart was confused about true north. It kept telling her there was something wrong with the Tresward, and it also told her the Tresward protected her. It’d taken her in when there were no other options. Knights fought the scourges of the world. Their Light kept the darkness at bay. Geneve glanced sideways at Armitage. Darkness like the Vhemin. That was the problem, really. Here she was, sharing the trail with a killer. She’d seen Armitage fight. He was no stranger to violence. He spoke its language. By the Three, he whispered sweet nothings into murder’s cold ear. Such a thing was far Read More …

Meriwether ran after the others until his side hurt. He didn’t look back. The pursuing Knights would make it or they wouldn’t. Looking wouldn’t change anything and seeing the smoke creatures on his heels would just make his last moments more terrifying. Troubles trotted along at his side, and he thought he sensed something snide in the horse’s sideways glances. He imagined her thinking, Is this the best you can do? His cloak billowed free of his head in the rush, but it didn’t matter. A little sunburn wasn’t the thing likely to kill him right this moment. He saw Armitage lead the group up a sand dune, their menagerie of horses in tow. Geneve kept an effortless pace on his heels, but the cat was plain annoying. Sight of Day loped along like the speed of both human and Vhemin was glacial. Read More …

Meriwether felt uneasy, a sick, queasy feeling that seemed to go further than his belly. It seeped unto his diaphragm, making it hard to breathe, and tickled his heart, causing his blood to pound in his ears. Knights are coming.  “This is bullshit,” he offered. Sight of Day nodded, golden eyes sympathetic. His right hand moved, fingers up, then splaying down as if tossing something vile on the ground. Geneve ran a weary hand through red hair. “He says it’s bullshit, too.” The special flavor of bullshit was Armitage’s plan. He wanted to run them close to the dead city, drawing out some of its guardians, if they still lived. Not so close they’d get sick, but close enough to wake the sleeping dead. He was fairly sure, runt, that they could stay ahead of whatever they stirred up, leaving the guardians in Read More …