The Razvak Hunter: Razvak Series 1 by Arel B. Grant

Author:Arel B. Grant [Grant, Arel B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BZN Media
Published: 2016-02-28T05:00:00+00:00

before:

LOST CITY

One month later, the settlement of Caalmendra swarmed with troops and weaponry. The small city was built straight over water, most of the dwellings having a trapdoor and stair that led to a maze of wooden road docks hovering over the surface of the ocean. Wooden buildings and bridges were scattered along the coast, growing closer to each other as they neared the mainland. Overlooking it all from a shallow promontory, stood a small, gray coral fort.

Caalmendra was home to the troeblins, peaceful neutral-bent creatures. Living at the southern edge of Myrasia, they kept to themselves and led tranquil lives. Small of stature, with lithe and long arms and legs and skin scaly and blue, the troeblins were seafarers, fishermen, and shipmakers.

Now, every available space in the town buzzed in earnest. Ships and smaller boats were coming and going, loading and unloading. The cry of seagulls sounded over hundreds of voices and the sound of frenzied activity. Docks and cobblestone streets were like a rattled beehive on the shore, troeblins running here and there to assist the White Knights that had volunteered to save their homes. Seawater musk mixed with fire and sulfur, sweat and blood, and the fear was thick in the air, a sour-smelling stench that soaked deep into the bones of the city.

Aelwyd scanned around her and felt a chill run up her back at what she saw. These people knew nothing of war, and they didn’t engage in the conflicts of the rest of Vallenthar.

But today was different. She took in the scene before her.

Sobbing, begging, praying.

A tearful man placing a helm over the head of his young son, who was no more than ten and two. The child’s large, scaly ears did their best to keep the oversized helmet in place over his narrow head. Chestnut-colored eyes were wide with a frightened awe that spoke of his innocence. He had a dusting of light blue freckles on his cheeks.

So young. For the love of Altarya!

These people were not warriors. They were victims.

“I do not like this.” Schedar’s voice was clipped as they moved through the city.

Aelwyd knew exactly what he meant. “We didn’t choose this ground. He did. All we can do now is try to protect the civilians the best we can.” It didn’t sit well, but there was no helping it. They would need every man they could gather. The troeblins would have to stand to protect their island. “They’re brave,” she said. “Let us not belittle their courage.”

“What’s courage good for when you are certain to die because of it?”

Aelwyd had no answer to that.

There was a clogging in the alleyway up ahead and Schedar and Aelwyd arrived to find a cart of supplies stuck in a hole. The sturdy mule struggled to get the vehicle moving again with the help of his owner and a few others, but to no avail. In the middle of the military frenzy, the common misfortune of a merchant was growing into a congestion of large proportions.

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