The Riven God by F. T. McKinstry

Author:F. T. McKinstry [McKinstry, F. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

The Purple Vine

An uneasy breeze whispered in the crags around the Shining Star, damping the air and stirring the brush along the strand. Wulfgar stood near the front steps of the inn and gazed at the gray eastern sky. To the west, heavy clouds had consumed the setting sun.

Aside from the coming storm, Caerroth had a different air than it had when Wulfgar arrived on the Eastfetch. Streets, stables, training yards, taverns, inns, and brothels had thickened with soldiers. Wulfgar had noted the Raptors better behaved, as a rule, than those he had known in other lands. According to Lorth, their service to the Eye and the things they knew thereby made any misconduct punishable by harsh measures.

The presence of wizards in the city gathering to board a warship for the Gray Isles gave Wulfgar hope he hadn’t felt since finding out Rhinne was still alive. Earlier, he had sought out Pike and given him the news, suggesting he gather their men and ready the Eastfetch to sail. The burly sailor had flashed a gap-toothed grin, stretching the scar on his chin. He was far more attached to the idea of the sea and a good fight than he was concerned for the as-yet undiscovered whereabouts of the North Born of Tromb. Fair enough. Bjorn hadn’t sent these men here to do the work of spies.

Similarly appealing to Wulfgar was the presence of a Keepers’ warship called the Winterscythe, a swift, forbidding vessel manned by a cutthroat crew as nasty as Pike and then some. Lorth had commented dryly that the Winterscythe changed captains more often than sails; however, being a Keepers’ ship, her captain and first mate were picked from the Order of Albatross with high ranks in the Order of Raptor. This and the news that the Aenlisarfon had sent word to the Master of Wychmouth in Mimir to ready a force for the trouble at hand caused Wulfgar to readjust his cynical opinion as to the willingness of wizards to involve themselves in the affairs of men. But then, Ragnvald and his minions had crossed rather flagrantly into their territory.

When Wulfgar and Lorth had arrived to the Shining Star two days ago, orders from Eyrie awaited them: Hunt for assassins and spies. Give no quarter. Lorth had read the message with a faint, chilling smile. Then he packed away his Raven’s habit, dressed comfortably as a mercenary and headed with Wulfgar to the rougher parts of town. Wulfgar had what he assumed was a rare opportunity to observe the wizard as he noticed the behaviors of odd folk, conversed with stray cats, and vanished into walls or shadows. Wulfgar had agreed to play bait. Drunk in a square, rude in a brothel, obnoxious in a bar or a shady shop, he let his lineage and origins shine like a stolen jewel. Thus aided by the wrong sort of attention, Lorth tracked down informants, spies and killers, including an oborom assassin who, no doubt owing to the fate of his predecessors had chosen to hide his blood and thorns.

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