A Feast for Wolves by Ben Galley

Author:Ben Galley [Galley, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Amazon: B0CFK4TSGR
Goodreads: 196678300
Publisher: BenGalley.com
Published: 2023-08-18T06:00:00+00:00

Uncomfortable would have been a kind description of the rest of the evening. It was nothing less than an arduous and – if Tyrfing was allowed to boast – an impressive feat of acting. Questions came at them from every mage and soldier as they hunkered around the bonfire, chewing on over-roasted goose and drinking a rancid wine that somehow tasted like mulch. Even the ale might as well have been seawater.

Beleketh and Tyrfing played friendly, naive, and as bigoted as their company. They laughed at every crass joke of Korobor’s. They nodded to every rancorous complaint about dragonkind. They endured every slight and taunt thrown at them by the other mages and Written, no doubt sly tests of their willingness. For hours, both Beleketh and Tyrfing walked a precarious cliff edge, and below them, the truth waited to dash their bodies to pieces. And every grinding minute, it was all Tyrfing could do not to glance repeatedly at the chained Siren.

The prisoner was hardly given a moment of peace or a single morsel of food. What he was given was an inordinate amount of abuse, even for a so-called prisoner of war. Emaneska was a brutal world, but the Arka were better than that. It was mortifying.

‘You got family back in Krauslung, Tyrfing?’ asked Korobor around a mouthful of goose. He and Beleketh seemed to be waging some unspoken battle over who could deplete the supplies the fastest. Beleketh matched the troll of a man bite for bite. She let him win on the drinking front, however. Korobor had already sunk half a barrel of the ale. It wasn’t simply because it was foul, it was so they stayed sharp. Even though drinking himself into oblivion might have actually made the evening tolerable, Tyrfing pretended to swig when he truly sipped.

‘One nephew. That’s all,’ replied Tyrfing.

‘He in the School like his uncle?’

‘That he is.’

‘Good lad!’ Korobor replied.

Two of the other mages, twins whose names had turned out to be Bart and Felch, raised their tankards in cheers before dousing their matching beards in ale. They were that level of drunk where they treated everything as a toast. They would have likely cheered a hiccup.

‘No wife? No woman?’ Sturm spoke up. She didn’t laugh as heartily as the others. She had barely eaten. The soldiers and mages spread about the hall played drinking games, sang rowdy songs, or arm-wrestled. Sturm sat with her knees tucked under her ams, sipping her wine and seeing how long she could go without blinking. ‘Or boy, if that’s what you fancy?’

Tyrfing shook his head. ‘Never had the time.’

‘What about your southern friend here? You ever ignore the Rules of the Written and ever…?’ she let the question hang.

Just in case Sturm’s implications weren’t clear, Korobor cackled while he slid a goose bone through the circle of his finger and thumb.

Tyrfing shifted uncomfortably in his seat, an upturned barrel cut in half. ‘Never.’

Beleketh laughed for the both of them. ‘He should be so lucky,’ she said, making Bart and Felch raise their tankards with drunken grins.

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