Meriwether lay on his belly, peering over a dune’s rise into the encampment below. It looked like a small military setup. He spied a makeshift smithy, complete with bellows and furnace. Horses were listless in a pen with a fabric gazebo to keep the sun off. Tents lay in neat rows, and Vhemin patrolled like soldiers. They were equipped with new-looking armor, but didn’t wear it the same way a human might. Many made do with a cuirass, not bothering to strap the breastplate and backplate together. It couldn’t be heat, what with them being cold-blooded, but it could be plain old laziness. The horse pen was their destination, but Meriwether couldn’t help but stare at the monstrous structure of the temple. From where he lay with Sight of Day on the sand, he could see the main building was a circular Read More …

The stables yielded Geneve’s prize: an ox-wagon front assembly. The hitch was sound oak, linked to two metal-rimmed wheels. Too heavy for her, but with four? Manageable. They also stole chain and pulleys, a set of hammers, and shovels. Kytto’s hand to hand training might not have been good for beating Wincuf, but working beside the Smith taught Geneve a thousand things most Knights would never know. They hustled the assembly from the stables with whispers and giggles. A few times they had to freeze, fearing a night-delivered noise as discovery, but through the Three’s grace no one found them. They made it to the hall. Geneve directed them on her plan. Hettie shimmied up the walls, the glint of her bald head disappearing into the gloom. Raja and Barbet stayed with Geneve, humping the wagon assembly to the middle Read More …

“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 …