Page 153 of Embers in the Snow

Battle-armor.

I quickly don it. The leather is supple and flexible, yet thick enough to deflect a glancing blow from a sword or dagger. Not that I need it—I heal quickly enough—but if I’m going to be stealing into Lukiria with the intent to mete out justice, I might as well look the part.

That’s how they speak of me, isn’t it? A bloodthirsty warmonger. A mad general. Apparently, I’ve used the Khaturians’ arcane magic to gain unnatural strength and immortality.

I tighten the buckles and fasten the ties. The leather is form-fitting, molding perfectly to the shape of my body. I hang the sword at my waist. It feels comfortable and familiar, only now, I wield it as easily as one might carry a feather.

And yet, Finley sleeps.

To the chaos and fury of my thoughts, the sound of her slumber is peace.

Let her rest for now. Soon enough, I’ll have to ask her to endure again.

I almost feel guilty. She’s been taken from her simple life in Ruen and thrust into my dangerous world. I couldalmostfeel terrible about it, but she’s faced it all with no complaint.

And now my fate is tied to hers.

I close my eyes and tip my head back, listening to the sounds of the castle; men stirring, servants going about their morning duties, horses snorting, the wind rising and falling, howling past the rooftops.

Everything is more acute than before. The sounds are sharper. My body is lighter.

Actually, I feel invincible.

That’s her doing.

Hersweet, glorious blood.

If my power is drawn from Hecoa, and she is a child of Eresus, then it makes perfect sense.

Death feeds on Life.

Life cannot exist without Death.

Outside, I hear the grindstones. Blades are being sharpened and whetted. Fortifications are being prepared for the onslaught that we expect to come tonight.

The Khaturian shamans will be here soon. When Finley and I visited Niize, I asked them to come down from the mountain to protect the castle. I’ll ask them to see to Kaithar, too, for they might know something about treating Lycan bites.

Gods, Kaithar, I hope you don’t succumb.

I’m not the sort of man who relies on prayers, but now I visualize Hecoa’s smooth, eternal face in my mind. She’s silver like the stars and completely impervious to time itself.

Her obsidian eyes see right through me as I recite an invocation in my head.

Eternal Goddess, it appears I’ve become somewhat of your ilk. And so I must tell you my wishes.

That my people remain safe from harm. My friend Kaithar included.

That Finley’s mother is alive and can be granted succour and deliverance from the ones that have tormented her.

That I will have the strength to vanquish evil and protect all that is precious to me. And if the one most precious of all were to risk falling into your domain, you will send her back, for she is mine.

As always, the Goddess remains silent.

Even when I fell into her domain, she was silent. Almost oblivious to the trials and tribulations of mere mortals such as I.

Only, I’m not quite mortal anymore.

I wrap my hand around the familiar hilt of my sword. This one is my favorite, even though it has no name. We Rahavans make a habit of naming our swords, but this one, the dragon-killer, remains without.

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