The Dawnhounds by Sascha Stronach

Author:Sascha Stronach [Stronach, Sascha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780473496821
Publisher: Little Hook Press
Published: 2019-11-07T16:00:00+00:00

Yat stared out to sea, and the setting sun. They’d turned the ship around two days ago, and were heading back towards Hainak with the easterly behind them—whatever business they’d done in Dawgar was long complete, and most of the crew had been told to remain in the galley during their stay. Yat couldn’t shake the unease she’d felt when she’d entered the mast: she could feel the vast weight of the sea beneath her. She’d thought it was empty, but maybe what she’d really been feeling was the pull—all magic going down, through the bottom of the sea and out to the world of the dead. Sibbi was behind the helm, steering them back from the far-away islands, back towards home. Yat was smoking a cigarette: the woman with red hair had offered, and they were smoking together in silence. The ship’s prow cut through the waves, carving apart the soft white crests, rising and falling with a satisfying slap of wood on water. It had become a familiar drumbeat over the last few days, and it calmed Yat: it felt like an echo of her own heart.

The woman beside her was deathly pale, and her skin was heavily tattooed. The tattoos moved beneath her skin—some sort of living ink. Yat had never met a real northerner before: in the stories, they were more of a force of nature than anything else—ferocious cannibals who came to loot and burn. The Iron Cult had turned the place into a wasteland in their endless search for more fuel for their great furnaces. Only a few cities remained up there, mostly those like Crow Hearth, protected by stout walls and electric fields. Varazzo liked to play up his northman credentials when he wanted to seem tough, even though he was from the Eastern Shelf: Accenza was in the northeast and dealt with the occasional raid, but there were juicier targets, closer to the tundra and poorly-protected. Accenza was a city with ports, and merchants, and books, and peace. They mostly just fought themselves. The real North didn’t even get a name: it was a place beyond words, where the Old Iron roamed. The woman’s name was Cannath. That was all Yat had been able to get out of her. She was a tall, stout woman, and she looked strong. Some of her tattoos ran on top of scars on her face—whether she was concealing them or painting them deeper was hard to say.

“You fight?” she said. It was the first time she’d spoken since offering her name.

“Sure,” said Yat. “We did hand-to-hand at the academy.”

“So you fight like a cop,” she said. She smirked. “You don’t fight.”

“I fight fine,” said Yat. She’d excelled at drills: her small size made it easier to get under the guard of the larger officers. They had a habit of underestimating her, and she had a habit of punishing them for it. She’d never been able to beat Sen, but nobody could do that. He told everybody he’d taught himself the Noble Drunkard Fist from a penny-manual.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.