her.
“F—Fathe—” Her voice cracked. A raven took flight and circled the air. “Were there no guards?”
Eyolf shook his head, unable to speak.
“There were,” Daggon said.
The raven circled and landed upon a small, bloodied mass: a boy. It pecked the corpse then pulled at the boy’s head until it had a mouthful of strands.
“Stop it,” Kallan muttered.
The raven pecked at a stub where an arm should have been.
“Stop it,” Kallan said.
The raven did not obey.
“Stop it!” Kallan shrieked and, scooping up a rock from the ground, she chucked it hard at the bird. “Stop it!” She took up another and, this time, she ran. “Stop it!”
The second rock fell short like the first, but, as she approached the body, the ravens took flight and left the corpse to Kallan.
“Stop!” Kallan screamed and threw her third rock into the air. It fell to the ground with a soft thump. Beside the boy, Kallan stood where the stench of death was stronger.
Behind her, Eyolf and Daggon led the king’s war-men into the dead. In silence, they walked, some bodies too mangled to identify. A few men, some guards lay on the ground, but mostly women and children made up the dead.
“Daggon,” Kallan heard the strength in her father’s voice falter. “Have one of your men take Kallan home.”
“My king.” His voice too had weakened. “Kallan.”
Kallan wasn’t sure how long she gazed into the steam that rolled in the wind. A shadow moved and a soft sob filled the massacre that was Austramonath.
She watched the malformed creature whimper as it hobbled over the dead. It sobbed as it stumbled and babbled intermittently with disconnected slurs and cries until a boy, bathed in blood, emerged from the fog, cradling the remains of a second much smaller boy.
“Mother said…” he muttered. “I will…He’ll be alright.” He stumbled and the corpse he grasped swayed, allowing Kallan to make out that the body was missing an arm and its tiny spine was cloven in two where entrails hung from its back.
“Mother said…” the boy muttered. “I can watch him. I can…I’m here…I did like you said, Mum. I’ll take care of him…”
His eyes focused as he emerged from his madness, and he noticed Kallan. “You can save him…you’re Seidkona. You’re…You can save him!”
Kallan stared, unable to speak, unable to offer words to the child whose mind had long since gone.
“Save him.” The child shoved the remains of his brother at Kallan. “You can! I know you can! You can…Mother told me…A Seidkona can save him!”
Kallan shook her head and forced the words to form. “I can’t.”
“You can!” The boy was standing close enough for Kallan to make out the blood that flowed from the child’s head and the one ruined eye now coated white. “You must!”
“Daggon,” Eyolf said.
“You aren’t even trying!” the boy screamed and Daggon reached to take him by the arm.
“Come along,” Daggon said.
The boy shrieked at Kallan. “You’ll kill him!”
Daggon grabbed the boy and firmly pulled him away from Kallan.
“You killed my brother!” The boy’s voice filled the stiff air.
“Daggon,” Kallan said and the captain froze. “I will take him.”
Daggon shook his head. “Kallan. You can’t help him.”
“I can’t bring his brother back.” Her knuckles were white as she dug her fists into her skirts and stumbled over the blood-soaked ground. “But I can help him.”
CHAPTER 7
Bergen sat on the steps of Gunir’s keep. Resting his arms on his knees, he supported his hunched back and shoulders. In one hand, he clutched the Sklavinian egg until his fingers were numb. In the other, he loosely held the neck of a bottle still full with mead.
Sklavinian artifacts are notorious for curses.
Rune’s words echoed back as Bergen stared at the stone courtyard bathed in moonlight and blood, Swann’s blood. He recalled Zabbai’s bronze body glistening in the sun of Râ-Kedet, naked
“F—Fathe—” Her voice cracked. A raven took flight and circled the air. “Were there no guards?”
Eyolf shook his head, unable to speak.
“There were,” Daggon said.
The raven circled and landed upon a small, bloodied mass: a boy. It pecked the corpse then pulled at the boy’s head until it had a mouthful of strands.
“Stop it,” Kallan muttered.
The raven pecked at a stub where an arm should have been.
“Stop it,” Kallan said.
The raven did not obey.
“Stop it!” Kallan shrieked and, scooping up a rock from the ground, she chucked it hard at the bird. “Stop it!” She took up another and, this time, she ran. “Stop it!”
The second rock fell short like the first, but, as she approached the body, the ravens took flight and left the corpse to Kallan.
“Stop!” Kallan screamed and threw her third rock into the air. It fell to the ground with a soft thump. Beside the boy, Kallan stood where the stench of death was stronger.
Behind her, Eyolf and Daggon led the king’s war-men into the dead. In silence, they walked, some bodies too mangled to identify. A few men, some guards lay on the ground, but mostly women and children made up the dead.
“Daggon,” Kallan heard the strength in her father’s voice falter. “Have one of your men take Kallan home.”
“My king.” His voice too had weakened. “Kallan.”
Kallan wasn’t sure how long she gazed into the steam that rolled in the wind. A shadow moved and a soft sob filled the massacre that was Austramonath.
She watched the malformed creature whimper as it hobbled over the dead. It sobbed as it stumbled and babbled intermittently with disconnected slurs and cries until a boy, bathed in blood, emerged from the fog, cradling the remains of a second much smaller boy.
“Mother said…” he muttered. “I will…He’ll be alright.” He stumbled and the corpse he grasped swayed, allowing Kallan to make out that the body was missing an arm and its tiny spine was cloven in two where entrails hung from its back.
“Mother said…” the boy muttered. “I can watch him. I can…I’m here…I did like you said, Mum. I’ll take care of him…”
His eyes focused as he emerged from his madness, and he noticed Kallan. “You can save him…you’re Seidkona. You’re…You can save him!”
Kallan stared, unable to speak, unable to offer words to the child whose mind had long since gone.
“Save him.” The child shoved the remains of his brother at Kallan. “You can! I know you can! You can…Mother told me…A Seidkona can save him!”
Kallan shook her head and forced the words to form. “I can’t.”
“You can!” The boy was standing close enough for Kallan to make out the blood that flowed from the child’s head and the one ruined eye now coated white. “You must!”
“Daggon,” Eyolf said.
“You aren’t even trying!” the boy screamed and Daggon reached to take him by the arm.
“Come along,” Daggon said.
The boy shrieked at Kallan. “You’ll kill him!”
Daggon grabbed the boy and firmly pulled him away from Kallan.
“You killed my brother!” The boy’s voice filled the stiff air.
“Daggon,” Kallan said and the captain froze. “I will take him.”
Daggon shook his head. “Kallan. You can’t help him.”
“I can’t bring his brother back.” Her knuckles were white as she dug her fists into her skirts and stumbled over the blood-soaked ground. “But I can help him.”
CHAPTER 7
Bergen sat on the steps of Gunir’s keep. Resting his arms on his knees, he supported his hunched back and shoulders. In one hand, he clutched the Sklavinian egg until his fingers were numb. In the other, he loosely held the neck of a bottle still full with mead.
Sklavinian artifacts are notorious for curses.
Rune’s words echoed back as Bergen stared at the stone courtyard bathed in moonlight and blood, Swann’s blood. He recalled Zabbai’s bronze body glistening in the sun of Râ-Kedet, naked
Similar Books
