The Final Decree by Shami Stovall

Author:Shami Stovall [Stovall, Shami]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Capital Station Books
Published: 2021-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

Five days. That was how long the snow lasted. When the storms ended, we were supposed to head for the capital to confront the god-king, but no one spoke about the matter. I suspected some were hoping Rylion would change his mind.

Wulf wanted me to train him in magic, but I couldn’t focus.

Seven days. That was how long it had been since I had spoken to Rylion.

He was avoiding me. There was no other explanation. He didn’t seem like the type to avoid conflict. He had engaged Alexavier without hesitation, and fought several Forsaken, even at the peril of his own life. Yet he wouldn’t speak to me. Perhaps I should have saved him the discomfort and left the lodge forever.

“You don’t look so good,” Lydia said. “You’ve been real quiet for some time now.”

I paced the front room of the lodge, waiting for the stew that had been promised for dinner. Steen stirred the contents of the pot, the thick aroma of meat and onion wafting over the area. The flames in the fireplace crackled and popped, creating a song of ash.

“Didn’t you say Rylion would be returning soon?” I asked, ignoring Lydia’s question.

“Yeah, I did say that.”

“I need to speak with him.”

Steen sipped at the broth. “You know who else has been quiet? Osmund. The man has barely left his room. He sends Rylion to do all the maintenance around the mountain.”

The information sank into my thoughts. Osmund had been at the lodge more often than before. He didn’t speak, except to Rylion, and then locked himself in his room. But I had enough to worry about. Osmund’s dilemma would have to wait.

Rylion would return for dinner. There wouldn’t be any avoidance if he was here.

The horses outside whinnied as a series of loud bangs issued from the front door. Lydia and Steen exchanged worried glances, but I headed straight for the door and opened it. A middle-aged man swaddled in heavy furs stood before me, frost coating the edges of his clothes and face.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

He pulled down the fur over his mouth. “Is Osmund Nasos here? I-I must speak to him. At once.” The man held back his chattering, but not completely.

I turned to Lydia and motioned her to the stairs. She went to Osmund’s room, dashing up the steps two at a time. Steen huddled closer to the pot, a glare on his face and suspicion rolling off him thicker than the stew.

Was this new man a hunter? He carried an axe and several skinning knives. Perhaps he was a woodsman.

Osmund lumbered down the steps, a deep frown set into his older face. “Who’s there? Why has someone come all the way to Mount Regel to find me?”

Lydia walked to the railing of the stairs and leaned heavily against it.

“Osmund!” the man said the moment they spotted each other. “Thank the gods. We need you, more than ever.”

“What’s happened, Rowland?”

“It’s a Forsaken. One from the Kingdom of Saileer.” The woodsman, Rowland, walked into the lodge, almost pushing me aside to do so.

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