Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 2

“I'm stone cold sober.”

It took Farren three tries to get the words right.

Seizing the handle of her battle-axe from where it leaned against her chair, Farren clambered out of the inn and into the crisp air of dawn.

The inn was always bustling with people, no matter what time of the day it was. Kinallen was a place many people passed through on their way to and from Valston, the city of vampires up north.

“If you're done swindling folks with your sorcery, we've got work to do,” Rendarr said, leaning against the threshold.

“It was no swindle,” she said, “I didn't take the money.”

“That's not how it works, Farren,” Rendarr shook his head, grinning.

“'Twas part of my duty,” Farren said reasonably, “was out on patrol. Smelled trouble. Sorted it out. Very simple.”

“Let me rephrase it for ya,” said Rendarr with a knowing smile. “ ‘I was out on patrol because I smelled trouble.’”

“I suppose it could work like that too,” she said, flashing her signature, dimpled smile.

“Poor fellow had no idea what was going on, he played fair,” he said with mock horror, “and you dupe him like that. You have no dignity, dear friend. I'm ashamed!”

Farren did a dramatic gesture of being hurt, before tossing the package of bread to him. His face lit up. “You're the best friend I ever had!”

Rolling up her sleeves, Farren went to one of the barrels outside the Olde Weasel inn and splashed some cold water on her face. The notorious Goldcrest whiskey was strong stuff.

“Jokes aside, you really shouldn't be that reckless with magic. You know the rule. What if the Council finds out?” Rendarr came up to stand beside Farren, his grin faded.

She stood up and faced him, water dripping from her face. The wayward wind played with the rough strands of her hair, the grey sky reflected in her deep-set, brown eyes.

“If the Council finds out?” she said, the smile not leaving her face, “well, I'll get hanged. Or jailed, if they're merciful enough. Though I prefer the first one. The high gallows has a wonderful view of the capital city, I hear.” Farren laughed. Rendarr didn't.

“Is everything a joke to you?” Rendarr said.

His eyes darted to the burn scars on her arm, just as she'd expected. The scars were old, the skin puckered up and mottled.

She'd made those scars herself, with a blunt knife in a vain attempt to remove the telltale mark. But none of it had been enough to hide the thief's brand that had been so deeply engraved into her skin by red hot branding irons. The fact that she was never going to move any further up the ranks in the Midaelian army remained as permanent as the mark.

Arrived at sixteen as a recruit, she had been here in Kinallen for seven years now. No commissions, nor did it seem she'd be getting a posting someplace else anytime soon. Sometimes she thought whether Lieutenant Evander had got her enrolled just so he could stow her here in this remote outpost, away from the capital city.

Now Farren tried to muster up a weak laugh. Every time she'd make such jokes, Rendarr would get too serious and it wasn't fun anymore.

Rendarr sighed, the look in his eyes softening. “Farren, you gotta understand how your actions affect others. Think about Lieutenant Evander, who signed you up despite everyone's protest. How would he face the Commander if you get in trouble? And…”