The Band of Starlit Waters (Spero’s Legacy Book 2) by Brad Bussie

Author:Brad Bussie [Bussie, Brad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

15 – WITHOUT WARNING

“I am not eating that!” Razmal shouted.

Ralon held a steaming hunk of elkin meat skewered on the end of a charred bone-roasting spit.

“It really is delicious. You should try it,” Gryphem said between massive bites of meat. He held an entire leg of elkin in his large talons, and grease dripped down his beak.

“Hot food,” Ralon said with a grin and took a bite out of the offered skewer.

Razmal felt his stomach lurch and held up a hand to refuse the offering. He would stick to the dried meat and cold cheese they had brought with them. Something about eating an enemy, no matter how delicious, just didn’t sit right with him.

“Ah c’mon Raz, it's not like they can talk or anything. They are barely one step above livestock,” Ralon said between bites.

Raz?

Gryphem nodded vigorously in agreement with what Ralon had said.

“I will pass, thank you,” Razmal said. He returned to his pack and rummaged for his own meal. Once he found what he was looking for, he settled down, using his pack as a backstop, and stared up into the gloomy reaches of the main caravan tent they had settled down under for the night.

They had walked for most of the day and, just after dark, had found the caravan staging area. Four muddy and rutted roads converged on a wide meadow that was covered in snow. A great many tents, some massive and others small enough for a single person, dotted the somewhat flat area of the meadow. Most of the smaller tents were made of tanned hide, while the larger ones were made of tightly woven fibers.

Gryphem had bought them a night in one of the larger travelers' lodges. The sign hanging above the tent flap had been impossible to see in the dark. The lodge was the closest thing to a tavern for a hundred miles, and Razmal was anxious to finish his meal and find some strong drink. A small covered wagon had been wheeled into the tent, and a white-haired Acrean man served foaming mugs of what looked like ale from the back.

Razmal ate his cold rations mechanically, not really tasting them. Something about the battle with the Elkin still bothered him. They had, after all, wandered into territory that the beasts had claimed. Most fights seemed to start the same way. Someone decided that they owned a place, and when others threatened said ownership, bloodshed ensued.

He thought back to the battles in the recent past. He hadn’t always felt like this. In fact, his battle-ax had seen a great deal more use than the hammer and shield he now carried. He really did miss that ax. He sighed heavily and looked around the caravan tent, deciding if he wanted to grab a tall foamy cup of forgetfulness.

There were six other groups under the tent. Two of the groups were comprised of Avians with dark and dull-colored feathers. They had given Gryphem a wide berth with his vibrant and noble plumage. Three of the other groups were a mixed rabble of rough-looking northern Acreans.

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