Dreams of Winter by Christian Warren Freed

Author:Christian Warren Freed [Christian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Warfighter Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Father Dye hurried to the front doors as soon as the insistent pounding began. He cursed his luck but knew it was only logical for the searchers to come to the chapel. Good men would search every building in Parvelon before too long. If anything, it would clear their conscience and ease rising troubles. Three more heavy pounds echoed through the arched foyer. Dye eased the door open a hand span and peered out at the unfriendly face of Lorden Hack, the local prefect.

Hack was known as a brutal man when the situation called for it. He excelled at torture and had a head for finding the truth. Father Dye choked down his rising bile and looked up at Hack. A ragged scar ran over his right eye, the bridge of his nose and past the curve of his lips. The eye was dead, glazed over a sick milky color. Hack refused to have it replaced or even to wear a patch. The sight was often enough to break a prisoner’s resolve and make him talk.

“Open the door, Father,” Hack demanded.

Dye straightened. “What for?”

“I am hunting a fugitive. He is somewhere in Parvelon.”

“This is a house of the gods. There is no fugitive here.”

Hack grinned, savage and wicked. “Precisely why I intend to search your church. What better place for a fugitive to hide? Open the door, priest. I will not ask again.”

“You have no authority here,” Dye stood his ground.

Hack pressed against the door. “We can do this your way or mine. Give me a reason to bust these doors in and burn your precious shrine to the ground.”

“Do not think to come to me under false authority, Lorden Hack! I am the voice of the gods. Who are you to threaten me?”

Hack snapped, “I am the prefect of this fucking village, not some dandy old man who runs around in a robe preaching to deaf ears all day!”

“You may not enter unless it is to pray.” Dye refused to back down.

Men like Hack made a living off the weak. They thought that, because they were bigger and stronger, they could muscle their way through anyone. This time, Hack was wrong. Dye had once been a strong young man, a champion boxer. Those days were decades behind him, but the lessons he’d learned remained. He was not going to back down to a bully. His eyes hardened, boring tiny holes into Hack.

Hack eased back a step. His hands curled with rage. “Enjoy this while it lasts. When I come back, I am going to pull your empty shrine apart one stone at a time.”

Hack stormed off, leaving no doubt in Dye’s mind that trouble was brewing. He had to get the giant to safety. Collecting his robes around him so that he wouldn’t trip, Father Dye hurried back to the prayer hall. Dye was deep in thought. Everything was happening too fast, and he was just one old man. There were no weapons, no hidden mines surrounding the church like the village had.

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