Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 14

Farren pulled up her hood to shield herself against the rough winds that whipped her face, and reined in next to the wooden bridge beside Rendarr. The wagons of supplies crossed the steam, with the squads from Brittlerock in tow.

Although less foggy than the previous day, the sky above remained a murky grey with gusts of frigid wind that chilled the bones, the sunlight weak and ashen.

Some few dozen paces far stood a captain of the patrollers and night archers, making sure the crates of Blood Elixirs got across safely. The attack on Kinallen being at nighttime, casualties among the vampires would be more, and the elixirs would be needed for both sustenance and healing.

"You know the weather has gone truly haywire when the vampires can walk around like that at midday," said Rendarr, watching the captain giving orders to Rohana.

Dark haired and crimson-eyed, she was stunningly beautiful. Deep scars ran down the captain's face and neck, strong arms resting upon the pommel of her cutlass.

"I bet she can walk around in the sun just the same, that captain," Farren said, fascinated eyes on the warrior.

"Who're you calling 'that captain'?" said a soldier from behind, "that's Willa Rivera, sole survivor of the Culling."

Farren turned to the man with a cold gaze. He was of her age, a corporal with light-brown hair and a jagged scar on the chin.

"Oh, it's you, that Clearstrike I was hearing about." He sneered. "Well, can't expect the likes of you to read much of history. Or read at all."

"Listen carefully," she said, hands over her chest in an exaggerated gesture of hurt, "and you can almost hear my heart shatter in a thousand pieces."

The eyeroll the corporal did next must've offered him a grand view of the inside of his brain. Granted he has one.

"Need more than that to dig through that thick hide of hers." Rendarr yawned. "I recommend a shovel, friend."

Farren snorted, then swung her gaze back to the captain.

The Culling.

Whatever the soldier might say, Farren did remember some of what she learned about the Culling in the history lessons they were given during the training. Rodormann wrote quite a lot about it-- the bloody battles that took place when Drisian forces overran the eastern vampire territories of Valston and the massacre that followed.

That was a tale of long ago, older than two centuries.

"I see no reason to pride yourself for knowing about the Culling. The Drisians' dislike of vampirefolk is common knowledge," she said to the soldier, "the same hatred was what fuelled those massacres. That much is known to even street rats such as me."

But a survivor of battles so close to Kinallen? That, Farren had no idea about. Even if the books did mention the warrior, slogging through colossal tomes was not the best of her talents.

The lone survivor was now walking around, giving orders, not more than a few dozen feet from her.

Those scars etched upon the captain's face, what horrific stories did they hold? How many dying comrades did those arms carry? Did the memories fade away with the long years of life her kind, the vampires were blessed with?

No. Such long lives are anything but a blessing. It means you have to live longer with your regrets.

The sound of approaching hooves snapped her out of her thoughts.

"I do not mean to eavesdrop, but some of your words reached me on my way here," said Linder as he arrived, astride his black stallion. He threw a concerned glance toward Captain Rivera.