Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) by Kameron A. Williams Page B
Authors: Kameron A. Williams
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in Ozgan’s direction.
With a smile, his cleaver raised above his shoulder, he stepped out from the trees into the fire’s light. “ I’m here .”
The men scrambled.
Ozgan had one slain in an instant, lunging forward with his great sword and dividing the man at the waist. The other who had darted for his weapon, froze upon seeing the bloody remnants of his slain companion sprawled about the ground, and ran for it. Ozgan stomped after him. He would never allow an escape.
The brute wound back his arm and heaved his cleaver at the runaway. The weapon cut through the air with one swift and violent rotation, flying into the man’s back and pushing him forward as the steel sunk through. He was swept into a tree trunk and pinned, leaving the blade stuck firm into the wood of the tree and the camper mangled. Blood crept into the soil.
Ozgan surveyed the campground: a goatskin rug, a few small blankets, the fire, and the meager meat of a small hare that was roasting on a spit. The brute scowled. Such a small meal would only make him hungrier. He would save that tiny thing for his captive.
After marching back for the wagon and leading his mule to the campsite, he swept his blade through the trees, cutting several green saplings. Hacking down the branches into smaller parts, the brute lashed them together, creating a parallel framework of bars, and set his crudely fashioned grill atop the two forked shafts that once held the spit.
He then approached one of the corpses, pulled up the arm of the dead man and wedged his cleaver’s blade against the shoulder. Pressing down with the weapon, he gave the arm a yank, plucking the limb from the corpse. He removed the other limbs as well, peeled off the clothing and set them upon his wooden grill.
Ozgan took a seat and rested himself as the meat roasted. He had done too much stalking today, too much creeping. He shut his eyes for what felt like a minute when the smell of charred wood and cooked flesh signaled it was time for dinner. Ozgan turned his cleaver flat, held it below his grill and rolled off one of the limbs onto it with a stick. He let the flesh cool for a few moments before shoving it in his mouth. This kind of meat was his favorite.
6
The Cond ors’ homes in the cli ffs were nothing more than nests, tiny dwellings bedded with thatch that were scattered among the crevices of the highest peaks. They had built their homes like the ancients atop the bluffs of the higher cliffs, and directly below were all other buildings of import, such as: the armory, the food keep, and the shops of the clan’s various craftsmen. The lower point of their city was below and between the great spires of rocky mounts. In the gorges and canyons below sat the common areas of the city where there was the most level ground, much of which was used to contain the herds.
The ancients had structured the city strategically.
Their homes were in the highest and most secluded of places, and they could only be reached by other members of the clan, for only the Condor could maneuver those cliffs. To an outsider, their village in the high city was inaccessible, and, provided they could even see the dwellings, trying to reach them would be gambling with their lives.
Even their buildings in the low city were somewhat protected from outsiders, though not nearly as much as the village. The canyons and gorges on the ground were the only areas of the City in the Clouds that could be easily traveled by intruders, but nothing of value lay in those areas except for the herds, and in the event of a battle the mountain goats would be led from the ram’s gorge up into the hills.
Living like the ancients had preserved their society for thousands of years. There was never a battle at their doorstep; there was rarely a battle at all. They killed their enemies in the shadows, and few believed they existed. They had remained secluded from the rest of the world until recently when Anza came to
With a smile, his cleaver raised above his shoulder, he stepped out from the trees into the fire’s light. “ I’m here .”
The men scrambled.
Ozgan had one slain in an instant, lunging forward with his great sword and dividing the man at the waist. The other who had darted for his weapon, froze upon seeing the bloody remnants of his slain companion sprawled about the ground, and ran for it. Ozgan stomped after him. He would never allow an escape.
The brute wound back his arm and heaved his cleaver at the runaway. The weapon cut through the air with one swift and violent rotation, flying into the man’s back and pushing him forward as the steel sunk through. He was swept into a tree trunk and pinned, leaving the blade stuck firm into the wood of the tree and the camper mangled. Blood crept into the soil.
Ozgan surveyed the campground: a goatskin rug, a few small blankets, the fire, and the meager meat of a small hare that was roasting on a spit. The brute scowled. Such a small meal would only make him hungrier. He would save that tiny thing for his captive.
After marching back for the wagon and leading his mule to the campsite, he swept his blade through the trees, cutting several green saplings. Hacking down the branches into smaller parts, the brute lashed them together, creating a parallel framework of bars, and set his crudely fashioned grill atop the two forked shafts that once held the spit.
He then approached one of the corpses, pulled up the arm of the dead man and wedged his cleaver’s blade against the shoulder. Pressing down with the weapon, he gave the arm a yank, plucking the limb from the corpse. He removed the other limbs as well, peeled off the clothing and set them upon his wooden grill.
Ozgan took a seat and rested himself as the meat roasted. He had done too much stalking today, too much creeping. He shut his eyes for what felt like a minute when the smell of charred wood and cooked flesh signaled it was time for dinner. Ozgan turned his cleaver flat, held it below his grill and rolled off one of the limbs onto it with a stick. He let the flesh cool for a few moments before shoving it in his mouth. This kind of meat was his favorite.
6
The Cond ors’ homes in the cli ffs were nothing more than nests, tiny dwellings bedded with thatch that were scattered among the crevices of the highest peaks. They had built their homes like the ancients atop the bluffs of the higher cliffs, and directly below were all other buildings of import, such as: the armory, the food keep, and the shops of the clan’s various craftsmen. The lower point of their city was below and between the great spires of rocky mounts. In the gorges and canyons below sat the common areas of the city where there was the most level ground, much of which was used to contain the herds.
The ancients had structured the city strategically.
Their homes were in the highest and most secluded of places, and they could only be reached by other members of the clan, for only the Condor could maneuver those cliffs. To an outsider, their village in the high city was inaccessible, and, provided they could even see the dwellings, trying to reach them would be gambling with their lives.
Even their buildings in the low city were somewhat protected from outsiders, though not nearly as much as the village. The canyons and gorges on the ground were the only areas of the City in the Clouds that could be easily traveled by intruders, but nothing of value lay in those areas except for the herds, and in the event of a battle the mountain goats would be led from the ram’s gorge up into the hills.
Living like the ancients had preserved their society for thousands of years. There was never a battle at their doorstep; there was rarely a battle at all. They killed their enemies in the shadows, and few believed they existed. They had remained secluded from the rest of the world until recently when Anza came to
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