Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 31

Bandits. Looters. Raiders. They had many names. If prayers could etch words upon stone, every last inch of the Unnamed God's visage would have been carved with the fervent pleas of the village folk to grant protection from them.

Despite their presence in people's prayers and fears, in stories told to children before bed, in vigilant minds of the warriors vowed to protect the village, they had no place to call home.

Folk said they were Drisians. Drisians claimed they were not of their land.

We ain't Midaelian, nor Drisian. We are the scorpions that crawled out when your kings churned up soil in their senseless war.

Such were a looter's last words before Linder had driven his claymore right through his throat when the mines had been under attack, years ago. Today, the scorpions would come again, brandishing their venomous tails. One among them is determined to kill me.

Without his cloak, Linder felt oddly exposed today, despite his leather armour and studded helm. From where he sat on his horse atop a raised patch of land near the North gate, the village of Kinallen spread out like an once-serene painting marred by the decay of time. A gust of icy wind swept through the deserted streets of the village. Clouds churned in the ashen sky overhead. Word was, the lake had frozen over completely now.

And to think, it was only an hour till daybreak. Gods, this is going to be a long day.

Clacking of hooves sounded behind him. Linder twisted in his saddle to find Captain Rivera leading her mount up the slope.

"So, what did Alastair have to say to Dion Edsley, Captain?"

"In terms of speaking-- not much, really. Cried for the most part, then apologised for being a nuisance. Didn't utter a single word, that Edsley fella. But it was enough to stall him for the night," said the captain.

Linder tensed. "Can we be sure Edsley didn't manage to sneak out of the camp during the night?"

"Absolutely. He has only now emerged from the patrollers quarters and joined the ranks of the archer squads. Been keeping an eye on him," she said off-handedly. "See, lad, that's why I tell you not to chug loads of that bitter bean-water you call coffee. Leaves your nerves frayed, that shite."

He chuckled. "There are lots of other reasons to be anxious today, Captain. Don't blame it all on my precious coffee-- the sole reason for my survival so far."

Captain Rivera flashed her fanged grin. "Soon to be the sole reason for your demise too, if you don't keep a rein on it." She paused, shifting her crossbow from its straps. "'Tis all very good that we got time to get folk out of the village and prepare. But, I'm still wondering how you could have prior knowledge of the attack, Val?"

"By the end of this day, I should be able to answer all your questions, Captain," he said.

Rivera regarded him with a frown for a moment, then turned to the village, without any attempt to prod answers out of him-- for which he was grateful. The conversation dwindled into a silence, one that was not uncomfortable, but rather reassuring of the integrity of one's boundaries.

That was how it had always been with the captain ever since he'd come to Brittlerock.

Despite his admiration for the warrior, his wishes to know the tales of her valor in the Culling, never once had Linder brought up the subject. He had seen the looks of intrusive curiosity that trailed her, prying eyes of people wanting to uncover some arcane secret of the battles centuries past, beneath a paper-thin veil of compassion.

--"It's a blessing that she lost her memory, I say. No one wants to remember horror like that."

--"Sole survivor of the Culling? Rhilio's mercy, how did her whole company perish except her?"