Chains of the Heretic by Salyards Jeff

Author:Salyards, Jeff [Salyards, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Chains of the Heretic
ISBN: 9781597808132
Publisher: Night Shade Books
Published: 2016-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

As we cleared the columns, the falling rain was more than cleansing—it signified salvation. Potential salvation. That is, if I was right about the Deserters being blinded by it. If I was wrong, we would all be dead in moments.

The vicinity around the towering round keep was empty, just as it had been during the rain before. But that didn’t necessarily prove anything. I swallowed hard, hoping I hadn’t been a horrendous fool to suggest using the rain for cover.

Braylar ordered Syldoon to bring Nustenzia to the front. Benk grabbed her by the arm and dragged her forward. Braylar turned to her and said, “Our horses. They are nearby, yes, in the rooter pens. Direct us.”

Nustenzia was still pale and shaken, and didn’t respond, staring off into the rain. Braylar stepped directly in front of her. “If we are cornered in Roxtiniak, and I see the Matriarch or any of her ilk, I will do one last thing before they strike us down, and that is slit your throat. So. I ask again. Where are our horses?”

She blinked, then rubbed at her eyes, as if just now noticing the raindrops collecting on her lashes. “Yes. The pens, the royal pens. That is, I believe so, I believe they took your beasts there. I have not seen them myself. It isn’t far from here. To the east.” She shook her head. “But—”

“Good enough.” He turned to his troops. “We move out.”

We set off at a jog, not wanting to run headfirst into any opposition, but not wanting to dawdle if there was pursuit.

I looked over my shoulder and saw at least a dozen Deserters standing just inside the columns, protected from the rain, and wondered if they could sense us at all, or if there was some other reason prohibiting them from stepping out of the keep to destroy us. One or two started to walk out, looking disoriented, taking a few hesitant steps before retreating for cover.

We jogged down a broad avenue, and while there were no Deserters out, we did see a man carrying several clay jugs on a stick balanced on his shoulders. He saw a group of armed humans, dropped his stick, and ran away from us and his shattered jugs.

Vendurro said, “Gods. No wonder the cowards were so easy to plaguing conquer.”

I might have countered that even the well-trained and armed elite of the Syldoon weren’t exactly putting up much opposition either, and until very recently considered the Deserters gods as well, which tended to keep insurrection to a dull roar, but I was nearly out of breath and it wouldn’t have done any good anyway. So I just continued to run, my case bouncing on my back, my quiver doing the same on my hip, my gambeson growing heavier with each drop of rain, as I kept the crossbow pointed up into the gray, drizzly sky and prayed to whatever gods might be listening that the rain would fall long enough for us to escape this terrible place.

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