Split Paths (Fall of Emros Book 2) by Devens Thomas J

Author:Devens, Thomas J
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2: First Raids

Raston

Lungs burned. Calves ached. They ran for hours before the old raider finally stopped. Drall’s body shook. His jaw chattered. He rubbed his hands together over the tiny fire they had built. It was barely enough. He tightened his jaw, trying not to let himself shiver. Tensed his body. It didn’t matter, he’d hold back as long as he could, but he was chilled to the bone.

It was embarrassing. He had survived his rites in the Ice Wastes. The South Lands were nothing compared to home, and the winter had barely even begun. Here he was, already to his sixteenth winter and only on his first raid. A raid he found himself missing most of, knocked unconscious, awakening face down in the mud and filth to find he had been left for dead. Shivering before a fire. Worst yet, he was terrified. He wanted to go home. To see his family, even if they didn’t care to see him.

He wished the fire were larger, but the old raider had insisted. Only the smallest of fires for warmth, lest the light carry and inform any possible pursuers of their camp. They had found a flat enough spot down a ledge, an eight-foot wall of stone standing at their back. It broke the wind, for that much Drall was grateful. He had little about him to provide warmth. A skirt of furs and a simple tunic, over which he wore a chain hauberk. On his sore and blistered feet, he wore crude sandals over cloth wraps for warmth.

The hauberk was of shoddy craftmanship. It was the only armor he could afford before the raid, but he would not miss the opportunity.

The old raider was watching him. Embarrassment forced Drall to lower his gaze, back to the miniscule flames that barely warmed his hands. Try as he may, he could only suppress his shivering momentarily.

“That’ll need seeing to, boy,” the raider said. It was the first he’d spoken since building the fire.

Drall looked up, not sure what he meant. The man pointed a gnarled finger at him. Drall’s gaze followed it to his shoulder. Amidst the rush of adrenaline, the fear of capture, the disgust of leaving comrades behind, he had forgotten about the burning and stinging sensation of early. Hunger and cold distracted him further. Now that it was brought once more to his attention, the pain returned. He felt like a child, ignoring the injury until they see the blood, as if it was not real until the scarlet bloomed. The pain took his breath away. Rings of chain were torn away from his hauberk.

“Gotta get that off,” the old man spoke with a soothing tone. “Let me help.” He rose from his place across the fire. A slow and jerky movement, rubbing at one knee as it straightened with an audible crack, louder than the crackling of twigs within the flames.

The old raider stepped up beside him, motioning for him to lift his arms. He pulled the chain shirt from Drall sending pain searing through his shoulder and back.

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