A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine by Quaintrell Philip C

Author:Quaintrell, Philip C.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quaintrell Publishings Ltd
Published: 2021-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Heated debates, long discussions, and deep conversations dominated the rest of the day. The council had gone round in circles, off on tangents, and struck dead ends that threatened to raise tempers again.

The council had finally parted ways after nightfall, each seeking refuge from the end of the world. Asher was exhausted, a state brought on by frustration and hopelessness. With Avandriell by his side, the ranger had taken himself off and started his own fire to the north.

In the light of the flames, Avandriell asleep beside him, Asher removed his broadsword. He was dismayed by the blood that stained the steel. Russell’s blood. With some water and a rag, he went about cleaning the blade from guard to tip.

His mind wandered, restless.

For every memory he recalled of the old wolf, he was brought back to Adan’Karth and his inescapable revelation. As hard as he had tried, the ranger had become attached to the Drake after so much time together. He owed his life to him more than once.

“I would ask what troubles you,” Nathaniel said, walking into view, “but that would seem in poor taste.”

Asher suppressed the sigh that so desperately wanted to be released. He had left the camp for a reason. “Unless you brought ale, this isn’t the fire for you.”

Nathaniel’s mouth broadened into a smug grin as he held up a pair of dwarven horns. “Thaligg assures me he didn’t brew it himself.”

“That just means it won’t kill us,” Asher quipped, accepting the horn. He gave it a brief sniff, recognising the scent of an established dwarven cider - Thundergrog perhaps.

“I know you wanted to be alone,” Nathaniel commented, taking his seat opposite the ranger, “but you should know those days are behind you now. Even friendships come at a cost,” he added with some amusement.

“It seems everything comes at a cost these days,” Asher muttered, tasting his drink which was sickeningly sweet, just the way dwarves liked their cider.

Nathaniel took a mouthful of his own but his focus remained fixed on the ranger. “You dwell on what was said in the tent.”

“A lot was said in the tent,” Asher pointed out, avoiding the real topic.

“Adan’Karth’s words cut through you,” Nathaniel said, cutting through the ranger in his own way. “Do you reckon there is any weight to his suggestion.”

“If Adan says his people can heal the tree then I believe they can heal the tree,” Asher responded, his tone clipped.

Though the ranger’s mood didn’t deserve it, Nathaniel was patient with him. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

Asher brought the rim of his horn to his lips but failed to drink even a drop. He averted his gaze from across the fire and finally exhaled a sigh.

“When I retrieved that relic from Haren Bain,” he began, “I thought it was a weapon. I thought I was going to kill every orc under the sun - genocide. Monsters or not, I knew it would haunt me for the rest of my days.

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