Geneve felt sick. It wasn’t just the poison. It felt like her soul needed care, a little time out, to just put its feet up and relax. She knew it’d only been days, but Geneve felt she’d run north for what felt like forever. Cut off from her fellow Knights, Geneve had done the best she could. She’d brought the sinner north, and during their time together, she’d learned he wasn’t a sinner. Meri wasn’t evil, any more than Sight of Day was, or even the monster, Armitage. She’d met evil people before, and none traveled with her. Iz and Tilly arriving felt like a condemnation of her choices. Israel’s voice held such pain when he called her name, and then she’d left his storm to die against the rock of Nicolette. That’s a little dramatic. I was poisoned, dying, Read More …

This is bullshit. It’s a lot of bullshit! Meriwether sprinted until he couldn’t anymore, then tried to push himself to merely run, breath running ragged in his chest. I need a plan, and I need it fast. Fire chewed the camp ahead. Meriwether headed toward it, Sight of Day at his side. The cat’s golden eyes were hard, like he hunted dangerous prey. His bow was in hand, and Meriwether was reminded that here he was, with a borrowed knife and no skills. Hey. I’ve got some skills. He hunkered beside a tent as it verged a makeshift road. Vhemin ran past, heading south. Meriwether almost ducked from cover when ten passed, but Sight of Day held his shoulder. A woman strode by, all black armor and cruel smiles. She was beautiful, but like the sun was to ice. Her face was hard, skin Read More …

Geneve stood atop the keep’s battlements, watching Wincuf walk away. The thug limped. Lucent Eleni claimed his injuries were past her skill with Sway, but she’d re-attached the Novice’s arm in times past. Cleric Eleni wasn’t telling the whole truth. They’d turned him out with silver regals in his pocket, a good Tresward Smithsteel sword, and a total lack of their blessing. The young man cursed them all, and Geneve in particular. She didn’t take it personally because she’d won. Footsteps turned her from the view and her reflection. Tilly walked toward her, armor gleaming in the sun. “Novice.” “Hello.” Geneve returned to the wondrous sight of a retreating Wincuf. “That’s that, then.” “What’s what?” Vertiline placed her hands on the old stone, leaning forward, shoulders hunched. “No more Wincuf.” The Chevalier laughed. “There will be plenty more Wincuf. He’s Read More …

Geneve approached the temple with her head high, red locks flowing in the desert wind. She’d donned her armor for this, because challenging Vhemin without steel around your heart was foolish, no matter how many patterns you knew. She didn’t have her helm because she’d left it on the sands to signpost supplies for old friends, so she’d need to keep her guard up. At least, I hope they’re still old friends. The desert was uncomfortably warm, the sands radiating the day’s heat back at her. Armitage looked happy enough, his leather armor strapped on tight. If his broken arm bothered him, he didn’t let it show. His massive club was held loose and easy in both hands. The plan was simple. Walk to the front door, knock, and enter. When they were still a klick away, Armitage pointed a Read More …

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 …

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 …