The Weaver & the Wyrm by Ben Galley

Author:Ben Galley [Galley, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Amazon: B0B1H228SG
Goodreads: 61136236
Publisher: BenGalley
Published: 2022-05-16T06:00:00+00:00

Pain was the great awakener. Farden opened his eyes to a lancing pain in his hand that was mercifully brief once he started moving. His wrist had swollen up underneath his Scalussen vambraces. The magick in the metal had expanded as much as possible, but it was still painfully tight.

The hunter. The bitch had taken the lindwyrm. But most importantly, she had been wrong.

Farden was alive. At least for now.

Still feeling the effects of Bother’s venom and wondering whether he was still doomed, Farden took his time getting to his feet. The process was undignified as a lame foal. His forehead became another limb, propping himself up until he was able to shuffle his knees and push upright. He fell once, twice, until his third attempt kept him upright.

Farden shook his head, savouring the pain of being alive. He preferred that immensely to being dead. The shame of being duped and defenceless was another matter, and one he buried beneath anger and action. It wasn’t so much failure as the thought of Bother in unfriendly hands that spurred him on.

The wagon trails went several yards before turning back on themselves. It gave Farden some satisfaction seeing the scrape of feet in the mud, showing somebody had fallen and picked themselves up. The mage examined the sky and the faded sun. An hour or two had passed, if it was indeed the same day. Farden hoped it was, and the fresh tracks seemed to confirm it.

In a loping run, Farden began to follow the tracks back north. It nettled him deeply to be retracing his steps, especially in a country as monotonous as this one, but he had no choice.

The venom still played its games with his eyes. Nothing at a distance made any sense. Everything moved like wet paint. The ringing and sweat persisted, but Farden felt more alive than he had before. Hope and relief began to replace his panic, but none of the speed from his pace.

Though he fell more than once into the grass or a ditch, Farden made good time, moving twice as fast as any cow. It could have been his poison-addled mind, but he swore he could smell perfume on the breeze.

It took another two hours to catch the sight of a shape on the road. Another blur that Farden spent several minutes figuring wasn’t a fly stuck in his eye. Moor birds squawked uneasily, and Farden caught the scent of blood.

With a metallic ring, the sword came free of his scabbard and hung low at his side. Magick felt difficult, dangerous, but he summoned it into his veins in any case. Fire burned beneath his fingertips, aching to be free. Control was something a mage never stopped learning.

The corpse in the road was his first sign that something was awry. Farden felt the heat in his brow, different from the venom. The body had been pierced by two arrows. The road was full of its blood. Farden knelt at its side, checking if it was Grett, but it was a man he didn’t recognise.

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