Mark of the Witchwyrm by Steve Van Samson

Author:Steve Van Samson [Van Samson, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rough House Publishing
Published: 2021-02-28T22:00:00+00:00

There was much to process. Much that had been dropped so unexpectedly on his head.

As he backed away, Tenebrus Kro stared at the man-shaped cluster of raw nerves that loomed before him, wishing beyond all reason there were some god out there that might intervene.

The purple sickness.

The words pricked at a familiar pain in his chest. It was nothing new--the usual mixture of guilt and well-honed despair--but this time it did not come alone.

Lishka. Livinia.

He could still see their faces, as sad as they were heartbreakingly beautiful. Even now, as his eyes began to well up, they were waiting for him.

Witch Tears.

Kro looked to the mounds of grassy fur that covered his uninvited guests, the Pershten. He stared at them long and hard as a myriad of regrets rose to the surface of his mind. Things had changed again. A new plan had begun to rise in his mind, like a phoenix from the ashes of his original. And it had just been snuffed out.

Tenebrus Kro knew that he was alone again. Alone--his truest state. There could be no hope of recruiting the blackfoot, not now that he knew what drove him. While a man might be swayed from the duties before him, a father was another matter entirely. Surely none knew that better than he.

At the appearance of a biting wind, Kro pulled close the sides of his hood--his fingers lingering on the fabric.

"Kro!" Hearing Belmorn's voice was like being doused by a bucket of half-frozen ale. "Damn it, wizard, do you hear me?!"

"I..." Kro began again in a more resigned tone. "I hear you, Belmorn. Half the Veld can probably hear you. And for the last time, I'm no damned wizard." The tears welling in his eyes itched into his nose, making him sniff. "Nikta Bergen." He could hardly hear his own voice. "So that was her name. I had forgotten. Though, nine years is a very long time." His body bowed, as if he carried the chains of a condemned man who was truly guilty of his crimes. "It pains me to tell you this but, the medicine you have come for is gone. Used up. And before you ask--no, I cannot simply make more."

The large riverman nearly doubled over, as if kicked in the stomach by one of his people's sacred horses. His mouth worked--open, closed--though only a single word came. "No."

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