Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen Book 4) by John Gwynne

Author:John Gwynne [Gwynne, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781447259718
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2016-11-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

CYWEN

Cywen lay in her cot, staring at the Vin Thalun guard by the door. It was dark, probably the other side of midnight by now, and still the guard sitting in the hospice was awake.

You’re usually snoring by now.

She heard a creak behind her, someone shifting in their bed.

Hild. Maybe she senses something. Cywen had been desperate to tell her of the plans. She wanted to tell everyone, to run through the hospice and warn them that tonight was the night. Over two hundred prisoners were in the hospice, none really unwell or needing treatment, now. Two were without limbs – one on a crutch, the other missing an arm to the elbow – but all were in their right minds, capable of making a decision, capable of leaving.

I have thought of this moment for so long, and now that it is here I am terrified. Only two options.

Escape or death. She gulped, because she knew failure and capture did not just mean death, it meant impalement.

Do not think on it. She knew that would lead to fear and indecision, and then it would be sunrise, and the time would be gone.

She pulled her blanket high, up to her neck, and beneath it she very carefully and slowly took Corban’s wolven claws out from her cloak and buckled them onto her wrist.

She waited, watching through half-closed lids. The Vin Thalun guard shifted, eyes drooping, then a hoot of laughter from beyond the doors jolted him fully awake.

Now or never, Cywen thought and slipped from her cot.

The guard scowled at her and she pointed at the bucket in the room’s corner, what passed for a latrine for them.

He gave her a surly nod and she walked across the room, out of his line of sight. She kicked the latrine bucket over, gripped her stomach, groaning, doubled over.

‘What is it?’ the Vin Thalun asked irritably as he strode over to Cywen, putting a hand on her back. She punched the wolven claws up, into his throat, pushing him stumbling backwards into the wall. He tried to scream, only a gurgling hiss escaping from his lips, then he was sliding down the wall, a bloody smear upon it, eyes rolling up into his head.

Cywen stood there, frozen, listening to her heart thumping in her skull, eyes fixed on the doors, expecting them to burst open and Vin Thalun to pour in.

‘What are you doing?’ a voice hissed: Hild, rising from her bed. Others were sitting up, blinking, men and women from Gramm’s hold, warriors who had been part of Jael’s warband.

‘Put these clothes on, quickly,’ Cywen hissed as she stripped the dead Vin Thalun of his leather vest and belt. She took the knife for herself, scowled as she felt its weight – all wrong for throwing – passing the rest to Yalric, a warrior from Gramm’s hold. His beard grown long while he’d been unwell, he was the closest amongst them to a Vin Thalun. The grin on his face as he buckled a sword-belt around his waist said he was ready for this.

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