Dreamlander by K.M. Weiland

Author:K.M. Weiland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, sword and sorcery, steampunk, action adventure, science fiction and fantasy, fantasy books, christian fantasy, fantasy thriller, parallel worlds love story, portal wars
Publisher: K.M. Weiland

Half an hour later, Chris and Quinnon reached the trees at the river and found Tireus, on horseback, dictating messages in a voice that still roared despite its hoarseness.

“Well.” Tireus propped a hand on his hip. “What are you doing out here?”

“Sightseeing.” The word cracked in the desert of Chris’s throat.

“I called you out here to inspire the troops, not to get yourself killed alongside them.”

Chris managed a shrug. “Sometimes it’s all the same thing, don’t you think?”

A smile tugged at Tireus’s mouth, then bloomed into a gaping grin. He threw his head back and shouted with laughter. He was still drunk on the adrenaline.

“You may have some distance to go before you’re a master tactician,” he said, “but no one can critique your panache!”

Chris sheathed his sword and shook circulation back into his fingers. “Figured I didn’t have anything to lose.”

Quinnon harrumphed.

Tireus laughed again. “It’s possible I may decide to like you after all. What do you say to that?”

“Don’t go to too much trouble.” He tried to keep the sarcasm from the words.

“Not a’tall. I’ve you to thank for what happened today.” Tireus’s grin softened a bit. “You’ll find I give credit where credit’s due. So hail the Gifted!” He gave his clenched fist a shake.

Chris nodded an acknowledgement.

Tireus snapped his fingers at an adjutant. “Find mounts for Captain Quinnon and the Gifted.”

In a few minutes, when the soldier returned with a pair of horses, Chris and Quinnon mounted and followed Tireus to the river. Violet dusk had begun to fall, hastened by the smoke and the heavy cloud cover. Chris took a last look over his shoulder. The blood and the bodies were fading into the shadows, with only the wail of the wounded to mark their places. The two armies, five hundred yards of churned-up ground between them, were digging in for the night. Artillery continued to hammer on both sides, even though all but the occasional volley fell well short.

He turned back to the river. Giant trees—hesperas they were called—stretched overhead. The thick trunks rose six feet from the mossy ground, then split into dozens of smaller trunks, all of which shot up to a towering height, from which a canopy of leaf-vines fell halfway back to the earth. The foliage’s rustling muted the rumble of water over rocks, but his body still tightened at the sound. His thirst threatened to burn away even his drying sweat.

His horse clopped nearer, and whispers spread through the troops. The soldiers who crammed the riverbank turned, like dominoes, to look at his approach. All the way to the water, bloodstained, glassy-eyed survivors parted ranks before him. When he dismounted on the bank and knelt to drink, a burly axeman offered him a leather cup. He accepted it with a nod, and the man backed away with a knuckle against his forehead.

Was this how Gifted were treated in normal times? He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. These men were watching him as if he were their leader.

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