Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 22

Some said magic was like cooking-- in the sense that anyone could do it with a bit of practice, but not everyone could become a professional cook.

Farren, however, did not agree.

Unlike magic, cooking was not punishable by law for if you were a soldier, and overdoing it rarely landed someone in bed with excruciating pain assailing their every sense and caused them to cough up blood.

Exhausting one's magical reserves, did. As was happening to her right now.

The Countess's words echoed in her mind.

"We all have magic-- like we have blood running in our veins and worries racking our brains. Simple, eh?"

"The key to using magic is never to force yourself to give your all." The Countess would say. "Giving your all may sound heroic and all that crap. The truth is-- it's both heroic and stupid."

"Spells not working? Ditch that and come back later, maybe after a meal or two. Unless you are an adept, kid, don't be stupid enough to try to use up all your magic. It'll take weeks to replenish-- but that ain't the problem. The problem is surviving until then. Your whole body would hurt like hell."

The Countess of Silver Knife was absolutely right, Farren now found out.

The assault spell she used on the leader of the Drisian soldiers-- she'd spent all her magic into it in the moment of desperation.

So severe was the pain that assailed her now, it did not seem to have any regard for the high tolerance level set by her dubious deal with Atruer, and true to the God's words, she did pay with her blood this time. Lots of it-- which she coughed up into a bucket.

It was at times like this Farren wished she had never made that deal. While others were sure to lose consciousness from the pain-- into a temporary escape, her high tolerance kept her wide awake through the entire ordeal. Nor could regular healing lessen the suffering.

She'd once confronted the God of Despair, clutching her axe in a trembling grip. It had not taken her more than a few weeks to realise the downsides to their agreement. "I want out of this blasted deal!"

"But I do not. Despite you being such a brat, you're of use to me." He laughed. "It takes a God to break a deal with a God. And where would you find another, in these miserable mortal lands?"

In a cruel jest, he'd made an exaggerated show of looking around the plain where they'd been standing. "See anyone other than...me?"

✦✧✦✧

In that bone-racking bout of delirium that descended upon Farren, she missed the fact that Crowder was for some reason still working that jinxed job, that Gray had carried an unconscious Rendarr on his back to Crowder's carriage on which they'd got back to the camp-- and Linder had hurried back to Brittlerock immediately after some primary healing.

Seated on a chair beside one of the beds in the infirmary, Klo filled her in with the details and rested a gentle arm across her shoulders as Farren put away the bucket for the umpteenth time.

She offered the sergeant a forced smile, her teeth stained red.

"Stubborn little thing," said Klo begrudgingly.

"I have the right to refuse treatment, and I exercised it," Farren said. "And you know why."

A deep frown creasing her forehead, Klo shifted in her seat. The afternoon sun falling through the window bars cast streaks of gold across her deep brown skin, black eyes shimmering like embers in the soft light; but a shadow had fallen beneath them ever since the night of the attack.