A Fable of Blood by J.D.L. Rosell

Author:J.D.L. Rosell [Rosell, J.D.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Tal faced the dark, stone door at the end of the hallway. His sword, Velori, he held bared at his side, the runes glowing a gentle blue across the honed, silver steel. He’d set aside his cloak and now shuddered in the chill air of the tower. Better a minute of shivering than to trip over the hem and fall on an enemy’s sword, he mused.

The plans were set, the players in place; all that remained was for the choreography to begin.

Yet, just when he was supposed to open the door, his doubts finally found him. It wasn't the first time he'd contended with the Ravagers. He knew they would be no easy prey. And as for himself… he was underfed, poorly rested, and still shaking from his brush with the past. And though he indulged himself in fantasy, how much of his legend was aggrandized?

"More than its fair share," he answered himself aloud.

He gripped Velori's hilt tighter, but the well-worn grip wasn't the comfort he'd hoped for. Where had his bluster, his rakish confidence gone to?

He knew.

That day, when the bodies of warlocks lay all around him. The day he'd been broken, never to truly repair. He'd faced it again, faced it and once more found himself wanting. It didn't matter that he'd been under the enemy's control — he knew it had been his hand.

And, for one moment, as he woke from the trance and saw the death and carnage surrounding him, he'd been delighted.

Tal shook his head, and a few wisps of his shaggy hair stole free of its leather binding. He pushed them back with annoyance, then had to laugh. "If I so revile myself," he asked aloud, "what do I have to fear?"

Someone shouted from the other side of the door, jolting him back to the moment. He gripped his blade tightly again.

If not to stay alive, then for the answers I've been searching for, he told himself. For the old crone who's dedicated her life to preserving her sister's legacy. For the whole of the Westreach, perhaps, if that book contains the secrets that Keeper claims.

More voices joined the shouting, perhaps hearing his voice through the stone. Tal planted a smile on his face and strode forward.

"It would be boorish of me," he said softly, "to keep our guests waiting any longer."

Reaching the door, he withdrew the seal Keeper had entrusted to him. Then, taking a deep breath and releasing it, he pressed the seal to the stone.

The door came free and swung silently toward him, and the noise outside crescendoed to a din. Tal didn't wait for it to fully open before he bolted back down the hall. A glance behind showed a burly humanoid with the features of a hog pushing himself through the gap, his black, beady eyes meeting Tal's. Shouting something in a gutteral tongue, he squeezed inside and began sprinting after him.

"Shit. Kald!"

Tal pointed at a spot on the wall behind him as he shouted, and a glyph, nearly invisible before, flared into glowing red life, then burst into flames.

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