Heart of Shadow (Seven Swords Book 1) by Sarah K. L. Wilson

Author:Sarah K. L. Wilson [Wilson, Sarah K. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sarah K. L. Wilson
Published: 2021-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“We can’t stay here,” Stekkan says carefully as he finishes bandaging my wound. He’s cut the edge off a blanket from the saddlebags. “It’s a mercy they aren’t upon us already.”

“Where are we?” I ask, pulling the leather strap from my mouth. My breathing is rough when I let go of the sword, but when I hold it, I feel little pain. I’ll need to ride clutching the pommel.

“That mystery, lady, is for you to unravel.” He’s sinking back into his duke charms. “We plummeted down the north road and then took a winding path to the west and when I saw this crevice between the hills, I pulled the horses into its shelter.”

I pause, tracing what I think is the path in my mind.

I look up the steep hill filled with tumbled rocks and spindly trees and I think I know where we are.

“The Old Road should be up there,” I say. “They built it on a ridge of high ground, but it was narrow and too hard to shore up, so a hundred years ago the new road was built in the lowland.”

“After a hundred years, it’s likely unpassable,” he says with a dismissive wave and then offers me a hand up.

I can’t rise with the sword in my hand. I’m too weak for that. I take his hand reluctantly and let him help me to my feet.

Breath puffs through my lungs and pain swells with it, rolling over me in red waves of searing agony. I fight against dark stars in my vision and sag against him.

“The sword,” I gasp.

He reaches down for it, lifts it, and then pauses, examining it.

“There is something odd about this piece,” he says, and my breath catches in my throat.

“The old road is still passable,” I say, trying to draw his attention away from the sword. An hour ago, I was worried enough, fearing I would be parted from Vargaard if the sword was stolen. Now, with this wound in my back, its value is even greater. I need it if I am to face the pain coming. It’s hard to speak without the sword in my hand. I feel sweat breaking across my forehead. “The trees grow very close to it and sometimes on the road, but the trail is run by game and hunters. It’s still passable for horses riding single file.”

“Mmmm.” He isn’t listening. His eyes are on the sword. “The blade says, ‘Agony is an end.’ Do you know what that means?”

“I know it means you can read ancient Tyrillic,” I say acidly.

He turns and lifts a brow. “And so can you.”

He looks older suddenly – or rather his age. Late twenties. Face shadowed in a five-day beard – though it’s not all that thick. His eyes narrow as he looks at me.

“I’d like it back,” I say, because the first sally in a battle should be direct unless you think you can strike secretly and win in one blow.

“It’s a unique thing,” he says, considering. He weighs it on his palm, his head tilting as he examines the etching in the crosspiece.

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