Page 135 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

“A scar to match the one my sister gave you.”

“I loved your sister, Cassius. She betrayed me. It was war.”

Cassius crouched so his eyes met Tharan’s.

“Even in war, they send the bodies of the dead home. My parents had no ashes to cast into the wind. Do you know what that was like for them?”

Tharan clenched his jaw.

“She knew the risks when she decided to play both sides.”

The crack of Tharan’s nose breaking echoed through the forest, and he fought back tears welling in his eyes, kneeling in the frigid snow.

The dire wolf snapped at Cassius, but he dodged its powerful jaws.

“Watch your dog, or I’ll wear his hide as a pelt.”

Tharan held a hand to the wolf, who backed away, bowing to his king.

“Good,” Cassius said, malice gleamed his blue eyes. “Get up.”

Tharan did as he commanded, just as two long swords skewered the two elves before him.

Blood trickled from their stunned mouths.

“Wha—” the wolf pounced on Cassius before he could finish his sentence, shaking him violently and flinging him into the nearest trees.

A flash of green light lit up the forest. Cassius could portal.

Sumac and the other soldier sliced the heads off the two remaining elves.

“Try coming back from that,” Sumac said, pulling the teeth from the man’s mouth.

“Good work,” Tharan said, wiping the snow from his pants.

“It was nothing. My teeth collection was looking a bit thin.” She held up an incisor to the moonlight. “These will do nicely.”

“Let’s get out of here before Cassius comes back with reinforcements.” A thousand pins and needles poked into Tharan’s skin as his magic returned to its full strength, healing his broken nose.

Climbing onto their wolves, they sped off into the forest. Tharan let out a sigh of relief, but somehow, he knew he hadn’t seen the last of Cassius.

32THARAN

They rode through the night,not bothering to stop and rest when the sun’s first light crested over the horizon. Tharan held his breath for most of the trip, not daring to look back.

The Court of Malts was the smallest of the Wild Courts, inhabited mostly by halflings with a penchant for brewing the continent’s finest ales. Tharan’s muscles relaxed as they crossed the boundary. The aroma of barley and hops wafted through the air even in the dead of winter.

They stopped in the capital city of Dunhaven, a cheery little city where cottages lined the cobblestone streets. Old ale barrels, no longer fit for use, served as flowerpots and bar tables. The halflings went about their evening, carrying roast hams and other assorted goods home for dinner after their shifts at one of the many breweries ended. Situated between the elven territory of Eden and the Atruskan River, it was said that the fertile soil and clean water made the ale taste better.

They stopped at the Hoppy Toadstool for the night.

“Feels good to be back on sylph soil,” Tharan said, stretching his arms wide.

“This was a free kingdom before the Sylph and Elven War. Halflings aren’t technically sylph. They’re just magus,” Hopper corrected his friend.

Tharan and Sumac both rolled their eyes.

Children came running from their houses to catch a glance of the dire wolves.

---