Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 10

Five years ago.

During the battle of the Brihurst Isles, Year 484 after the Great War.

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He came to her when winter came to the forest.

When the frigid wind stripped the trees bare, the lake behind the cabin froze over and when mist swirled above its surface mirroring the overcast sky, he had come to her.

There he'd stood at the threshold. Wind whipped at his hood, which he lowered to reveal hair so blond it was the colour of untainted snow. It seemed as though Edis himself had arrived at her doorstep. But unlike the god of winter, his eyes were not silver, but a beautiful blue-gray.

And she'd greeted him with a dagger to his throat.

"Sorceress," he'd managed to say, before the cold blade pressed up against his neck.

"Turn back, if you do not wish to join the others I've buried beside the lake," said Avalyn Loneblight.

Although the man appeared to tense up, he did not step away from the dagger point.

"I understand why you must be on your guard at all times, sorceress, given the situation you face. But you need not be alarmed," he said, seemingly oblivious to the thin trickle of blood running down his neck and seeping into his collar. He spoke fluent Midaelian, with only the faintest hint of a Drisian accent.

"I'm not an assassin, I assure you," said the man, "were I one, would I be standing at the front door?"

Avalyn's dark eyes narrowed. Something in her wanted to believe he was not a cold blooded murderer.

"Were I after your life, I would have crawled through the window and crept up on you in the dark when you'd least expect it," he said softly, "and get the job done as cleanly as possible. In one, swift move, preferably."

"That's just the most reassuring thing I've ever heard." Avalyn withdrew the blade and stepped aside.

"Sorceress, I am here for--" he began, but Avalyn shuffled back into the run-down cabin that was her makeshift home, the dagger disappearing at once beneath one long, trailing sleeve. She retrieved a vial from a cabinet in one corner of the cabin, and tossed it to the man.

He stared at the blue tinted solution within it and raised a pale eyebrow.

"Drink up," she said nonchalantly, "then let's hear what you have to say."

When he did not appear keen to drink from the vial given to him by a woman he'd just met and got threatened by with a dagger mere moments ago, Avalyn shook her head. "I'd hurry up if I were you. That blade was poisoned. Veromide. Action starts in five minutes and trust me when I say this: it's not a pretty sight," she said, "that's the antidote you've got there."

His thin lips curved into a smile as he unstoppered the vial. "I suppose you could've slit my throat earlier if you'd really wanted me dead. I trust you then, sorceress."

Avalyn shrugged, sinking into an ancient armchair that protested with creaks and groans. "Let's just say dragging a body all the way to the lake shore is rather troublesome. And you apparently have something to say."

His smile widened. He downed the vial and shivered. "Not the most delicious thing I've ever had."

"I'll keep in mind to throw in some cream and sugar next time I'm brewing antidotes, sir-"

"Captain," he corrected, "of the Calbridge division. The name's Reylan."

"Well, it'll do you good to speak up fast, Captain Reylan."