God's Last Breath by Sam Sykes

Author:Sam Sykes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Fantasy / Epic, Fiction / Action & Adventure
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2017-12-05T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FIVE

HEROISM, BUT FOR ASSHOLES

So …” Lenk began to speak through a mouthful of pomegranate, but manners caught up to him in time. He held up a finger, chewed, and swallowed. “Sorry about that.” He licked red juice from his lips. “So, the tulwar are attacking Cier’Djaal?”

Nezhi quirked a single eyebrow at him. “That’s the rumor, anyway,” he said. “You understand, I wasn’t keen to stick around to find out. I barely got out of Jalaang in time. My contact wanted to haggle on another bushel of pomegranates. If I had lingered to indulge him, I would be dead, too.”

“Yeah, good thing you didn’t.” Lenk took another bite of the fruit and swallowed. “These things are delicious, by the way. I bet they’ll sell fantastic.” He pointed to the canteen sitting beside the merchant’s feet. “Hey, could you—”

“Oh.” Nezhi plucked up the flask and handed it across the doused remains of the fire to Lenk. “There you are.”

Lenk nodded his appreciation before draining the canteen dry. He would have felt bad about it, but his days in the desert had left him with a powerful thirst and Nezhi had plenty more. Besides, it was only his second.

Men like Nezhi, a Djaalic man blessed with ample supply and generosity, were the sort of people who rekindled one’s faith in the divine. It was good luck that Lenk had found the merchant and his two wagons’ tracks and followed them, but the fact that Nezhi happened to have carts full of food and water to trade with the villages along the Lyre River seemed more like divine providence.

“So, they seized Jalaang and now they’re on the move?” Lenk asked.

“Not when last heard, but it can’t be long now,” Nezhi said. “I’ve met refugees who escaped and were heading south to Karnerian-held lands. They said there were even more tulwar gathering in the city. For what other purpose could they be gathering?”

“Probably not a picnic,” Lenk muttered.

“Indeed,” Nezhi replied. “I have heard only stories, but it’s said a demon leads them. A great horned beast, skin like blood, wings that blot out the sun, and a fiery temperament.”

Lenk paused midchew. “Come again?”

“A monster,” Nezhi said. “It all but killed the Prophet at the gates of Jalaang. But she has since rallied, calling the armies of Cier’Djaal to her.”

“Right,” Lenk muttered. “The Prophet. Tall girl, brown hair?”

“Mm. A shkainai, like yourself. Perhaps you know her?”

“I should have known better,” Lenk muttered. “How long ago was it that you heard this?”

“Mere days. Another merchant I passed on the road informed me. He was chasing rumors of war, hoping to make a few coins off people’s desperation.”

“Shameful.”

Nezhi fixed him with a very severe look. “Indeed.”

Lenk pointedly looked away as he finished his pomegranate. He sucked his fingers clean, wiping them off on his trousers before extending his hand across the fire to Nezhi. The merchant warily took it, cringing as he did.

“Nezhi, you’ve been an absolute blessing to us,” Lenk said. “You’ve given us what we desperately needed and more.

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