Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 7

"Outside the meeting hall, Commander Karyk met someone he killed in the battle of Brihurst Isles five years ago."

"What?"

"My reaction was not much different, when Karyk told me the same," said Lieutenant Evander with a wry smile.

"But how can he be so sure it's the same person he killed?" said Karles, his grip shifted on his bow. "Last raid, sir-- not to brag-- I shot down quite a few. Some six, perhaps seven Drisian looters. Doubt I remember any of their faces."

Farren was not sure she agreed. She clearly remembered her first kill, for the visage had been burned into her mind. A Drisian bandit; slack brown hair pasted to the forehead, one missing eye, yellowed teeth bared in a grin.

"Some faces, lad, you'll find hard to forget," said the lieutenant with a sigh. He looked drained, so very exhausted all of a sudden. "Most, you won't remember. But some, Sweet Draedona, will come back to haunt you, time and again. Flash before your sleepless eyes in the dead of the night, ask you questions you wouldn't know how to answer."

Lieutenant Evander paused. "Pertheran was one of them."

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The battle of Brihurst Isles was one Farren had only heard tales about. They all had heard of the encroachment of Drisian marine fleets upon Midaelian territorial waters. Commander Karyk had been sent there to lead a company of soldiers from the capital.

Shortly after the commander's departure, the eastern border here had been under attack. That was Farren's first time in battle. Kinallen had been in flames.

"Pertheran?" Klo asked.

"Aye. Drisian lad; slight build, ginger hair. A Private, from what we saw of him." said Lieutenant Evander. "You might remember I was there with commander Karyk during the attack on Brihurst Isles. Drisian marines--they'd reached shore and targeted the fishing settlements lining the eastern coast. "

"The coastal guards could not hold. They needed reinforcements," said Evander, "that's where we come in, Karyk and I. With our forces conjoined with the coastal guard, we were able to free the fishing settlements, drove them out; I'll spare you the details. Anyway, that's where we found Pertheran, cowering beneath a guard tower. He was just a boy, no more than nineteen, perhaps younger."

Rendarr shifted in his seat, disbelief on his face. "Commander Karyk killed someone like that?"

"Had you been in his place, you would've done the same." Lieutenant Evander looked more drained with every word he spoke. "There he lay, soaked in seawater in the sloshy mud of the coast, foaming at the mouth, arms and legs twitching horribly, as though a wizard shocked him with thunderbolt. One look at him and we knew what it was."

"Draedona's tears," said Farren, who had been quiet for a while. "That's just a nickname, of course. Its alchemical name is Glikayne."

The other three and the lieutenant turned to look at her, their gazes suspicious.

Lieutenant Evander frowned. "That's right."

"Velan warlike tribes use it to poison their arrows and crossbow quarrels," she continued, "deadly. Causes violent muscle spasms; so strong that can strain tendons hard enough to shatter bones. Mimicks signs of consumption when slow-fed in small doses.”

It all came easy to Farren, like a memorized poem. The Countess of Silver Knife had taught her well.

"Anything else?" said Evander, as though it were an interview.

Yes. Thugs and assassins of Byton use it on their blades. The Dark Saints supply it to them.

The Council does not bat an eye.