Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 72

Snow lay glittering before Xenro where he kneeled in the deserted back of the bakery house, deep handprints dug into them.

His own.

Dried leaves and broken twigs littered the ground in brown blotches, aftermath of a failed attempt to summon a portalway.

This was not the first time, and Xenro was sure this would not be the last, either.

Draedona's realm was closed shut with the Chains. Of Edis, he could only summon a flickering little rent in the air which vanished after showing him the bleak, snow laden plains, but no sign of the God of Winter himself. Xenro had managed to establish contact with neither.

He rose and leaned back against the wooden beam supporting the small shed. The sky was yet to lighten, the last frosty stars still glistening up above. Behind him, the bakery bustled with life, those at the ground floor beginning the day's work early, and the mercenaries at the loft above moving along the hallways, all ready to march.

The nip in the air had turned into savage bites at daybreak. The shiver that shook him told him a grim truth, for the cold winds that Edis brought did not usually bother Xenro. If the cold was able to get to him, it had to be because Edis was losing control of his power, or Xenro was weakening in his.

A long journey and two perilous missions lay ahead-to locate the burial grounds and rescue the Midaelian commander.

He clenched his fists, impatience clawing at his insides, powerlessness compelling him to cry out loud. Hold on a little more.

The Apocalypse does not have to come, if the Vasaeni perish early.

What was but the walk of a few leagues compared to the centuries of imprisonment?

If the Apocalypse came, he would fight it.

He would walk with his folk again, sword unsheathed and the reins of his frothing steed in his hands. No one could stop him from entering the fray this time, not Father, nor all the Gods combined.

A window to the loft opened, directly above him. "Oy!" called Bjorn, "whatever you are brooding over there, you can do it on the way. Let's get going. Captain will punt our arses straight to Drisia if we're late."

Xenro faced him with a chuckle. "Now that would be a convenient mode of travelling."

He strode in through the back door. There from a wash-basin he splashed some ice cold water on his face, trying to ease off his intrusive thoughts. Above it hung a tarnished mirror. His hair was tied back, thick fur cloak snug around his broad shoulders, sword on his back secured within a scabbard fastened to his baldric. Light stubble lined his jaws. The captain's insignia was still pinned to his cloak. He ran his finger upon it, tracing the shape of the sword.

The party gathered before the palace, the captain doing a head count before setting off. Sergeant Klo Wolturs, chosen squad leader for this mission, ordered the soldiers into wagons and did a final check of the supplies. Crowder and Foxward, assigned squad healers, loaded the medical equipment into a chest.

The huge box from Kinallen was about to be hauled up the steps to the palace. None yet knew what was in it, except Princess Lysandra, who stood not far, watching them. Hilda stood beside her. The bard was not accompanying them in this mission.

"Could've used some music," grumbled Farren as she bade her goodbye. "The journey's long."

"Someone must stay behind for Her Highness's protection," said Hilda, looking very noble.

Lysandra snorted. "In what way are you to provide me protection? Hit 'em on the head with your lute?"

"If all goes well, I need not resort to such desperate measures, milady."