Wind Demon 01 by Blood Wind

Author:Blood Wind [Wind, Blood]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-10-01T16:35:38+00:00

“Aye, I have heard of them, but what have they to do with what we're talking about?”

“I believe the Resistance on both our worlds are being run by them.”

“It does not matter,” Cree drawled. “I am sworn to fight any and all enemies of the Empire, sorceresses or not, and the women of the Rysalian Resistance have gained my undivided attention!”

“What if your woman is one of them?”

Cree's eyes widened and he turned a fierce face to his companion. “She would not be!”

“How do you know she is not?”

“I know!”

Lares looked at him for a long moment, and then lowered his voice to a forceful whisper. “But how do you know?” The Reaper opened his mouth to defend Bridget, and then snapped it shut. The Necromanian was right; how did he know?

****

SWEAT RAN down Cree's face and salt trickled into his eyes, blinding him. He stopped, rested the handle of his pickax against his thigh and armed away the sweat, leaving long dirty streaks on his forehead and right cheek. Breathing raggedly from his work breaking rocks, he hunkered down on his haunches and let his head drop from the sheer exhaustion. He was hotter than he could ever remember being; tanned as deeply bonze as the three Diabolusian prisoners who were glaring at him from the entrance to the cave. It hadn't taken him long to discard his black jumpsuit that first day three weeks earlier. Aye, he thought tiredly: he was hotter than he had ever been, but in far better shape, too. He had developed muscle groups that he had not even known he possessed. His biceps were rock-hard, bulging, from the steady day-to-day application of pickax to rock. You could bounce a Serenian gold piece off his thighs, they were so tight with firm muscle tone. The thick calluses on the palms of his hands were the only drawback to the hard labor, but he had earned them; worked through the blisters that had formed, broken, ran, dug deep into the tender flesh, then formed again until there was a horny layer covering the once-soft pads of his palm heel and fingers. His chest had begun to bulge after the second week and he doubted seriously if he could even fit into the jumpsuit when it was time to leave this hellhole.

The stealthy crunch of rock nearby brought Cree's head up and set off an alarm in the back of his killer's mind. He looked behind him, saw no one, but realized there were no longer three Diabolusians glaring at him. He pushed up to his feet and reached for the pickax. The worn smoothness of the thick handle was comforting.

“On your left,” he heard Raine say in a low voice as the young man sidled toward him from the other side of the garden plot where he had been pulling weeds. The young Serenian nobleman was carrying a hoe in a practiced grip; fighting for his chance to be left alone among the murderers and rapists of Helios 12 was nothing new to the handsome political prisoner.

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