Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Grimm's War
    Grimm's War
    Grimm's War
    Ebook293 pages4 hours

    Grimm's War

    By Kenneth McDonald

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Eldwen Grimm and Miranda Hael come from different worlds. He a newly-trained Border Warden, she a Shield Mage of the Order, they share a common bond in service to the mage-kingdom of Sacreth. This unlikely pair is thrown together on a mission beyond Sacreth’s borders to a mining outpost within the mysterious and dangerous Forever Wood. The forest has never been a welcoming place to outsiders, but the arrival of the young soldier and mage comes as a dark power is stirring within the Wood, one that is eager to destroy both them and everything they stand for.

    “Grimm’s War” is the latest novel in the Mages of Sacreth series (“The Labyrinth,” “Of Spells and Demons”), and is set decades before the events in those prior works. It is the first installment in a new trilogy about the life of Eldwen Grimm, Border Warden of Sacreth.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKenneth McDonald
    Release dateJan 23, 2013
    ISBN9781301167050
    Grimm's War
    Author

    Kenneth McDonald

    I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

    Read more from Kenneth Mc Donald

    Related to Grimm's War

    Titles in the series (3)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Fantasy For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      A Dragon’s Perspective

      Jun 10, 2022

      There once lived a dragon named Deathwing. Well, at least that’s what they called him. Deathwing was growing old, far too old for his liking. The joints of his claws ached and groaned under his ever-growing weight and his scales were beginning to los

      18 min read

    • Article

      Perfect Prose II

      May 15, 2020

      Perfect Prose II
      4 min read

    • Article

      Crescent City

      Dec 1, 2021

      Crescent City
      5 min read

    • Article

      In The Spotlight: Your Writing Genre - Busting

      Apr 4, 2024

      What an inventive lot the WM writers proved themselves to be with the ‘Genre-busting' submission call! The response was terrific, with a postbag full of playful, off-the wall writing that read as if its creators had a gonzo riot mashing up elements f

      5 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      May 1, 2022

      —after Gerrit van Honthorst’s “Samson and Delilah,” c. 1621 They’ve made a monster of me, marring my namefor eternity. I’m not Delilah,but Laila. I loved him. Each night, in bed, after our bodies became one body, he would succumb to sleep, resting hi

      3 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems by Phillip B. Williams

      Dec 15, 2017

      The masters are yet dead. Wanting to be human,I tried to rewrite The Waste Land. The canon’s reachcasts ruinous light. The masters’ pens breachthis page where, above, my own hand spectates. Babylonrisen, exorcism in reverse, whose nature upended now?

      6 min read

    • Article

      In Love And War

      Jun 10, 2021

      April 1943 - Krakow, Poland Irena was bent over her needlework, stitching the frayed seam of her skirt when she heard a single gunshot ring out. She jerked and then scowled. After four years of war, she ought to be used to it. Why, the other night a

      11 min read

    • Article

      To Save Arrhinsal

      Nov 1, 2021

      Tolin lives on Arrhinsal, an island that floats in the sky two miles above the land below. One day, while hunting in the maze of tunnels that run through the island’s thick hedges, he encounters a girl who, her sword raised, has turned to face a huge

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Symmetry Of Ruby Margot

      Feb 6, 2020

      The Symmetry Of Ruby Margot
      10 min read

    • Article

      A Thousand Embers

      Aug 13, 2023

      The old man’s grave hung like a mist over the whole of the wops. The world was still and soundless. Even the owl that watches over this place had ceased to call its name. Ru-ru. And though it wasn’t cold, an eerie chill possessed us, our breath visib

      3 min read

    • Article

      How the West Was Logged

      Jul 2, 2019

      W.S. Merwin understood the fragility of forests. The poet, who died in March, lived on a conservancy on Maui that he and his wife, Paula, had founded decades earlier. There, they were surrounded by palm trees that the couple had planted as seedlings

      4 min read

    • Article

      Magnets: Carried through time, lovers seek their purpose.

      Feb 6, 2014

      Moon Colony B, 2213 Former Ponzi-schemer Mary Pillar digs through a trashcan. It smells like rotten eggs and milk. She is elderly and homeless, living in an alley between two eco-efficient skyscrapers. Dust particles dance around her. She has lost ev

      11 min read

    • Article

      In The Spotlight:your Writing Dark Side

      Dec 7, 2023

      Spooky season evidently offered creative inspiration aplenty for the WM writers, who responded to the call for writing in November’s crime-themed issue on the theme of ‘Dark Side’ with our fullest mailbox yet. The poetry and prose sent in demonstrate

      4 min read

    • Article

      Lay Your Burden Down

      Mar 1, 2019

      Lay Your Burden Down
      15 min read

    • Article

      A Knock At The Door

      Mar 1, 2020

      A Knock At The Door
      11 min read

    • Article

      To Save Arrhinsal

      Sep 1, 2021

      TOLIN CRAWLED FORWARD, staying alert. All around, the dense, wiry thickets of the hedge were strangely silent. That usually meant danger, when the green tangle of thorns should be cheery with the songs of finches, the dusky clucking of hedge hens. On

      8 min read

    • Article

      Elf Quest

      Nov 30, 2022

      Elf Quest
      11 min read

    • Article

      Equinox

      May 18, 2022

      In this strange world, where identities change with the rising and setting of the sun, supernatural forces are at work – and they’re causing trouble… St Leonars prison was an appropriately imposing building. It rose out of the surrounding shacks and

      5 min read

    • Article

      More Than Meets The Eye

      Nov 3, 2022

      More Than Meets The Eye
      8 min read

    • Article

      Must-Read Poetry: October 2018

      Oct 2, 2018

      Here are six notable books of poetry publishing in October. The Lumberjack’s Dove by GennaRose Nethercott All praise to book-length poems. Nethercott’s yarn begins with a lumberjack who chops off his own hand. “The hand becomes a dove” and tries to f

      5 min read

    • Article

      100-WORD-STORY COMPETITION Winners

      Aug 16, 2022

      We’ve been delighted by the huge response to our 100-word-story competition. The entries have flooded in thick and fast during the past few months, but while we’ve enjoyed reading every story, only a few can come out on top! You, our readers, voted t

      5 min read

    • Article

      'Dunbar' Is A Moving, Brutal And Apt Update Of 'King Lear'

      Oct 5, 2017

      For centuries, Shakespeare's tragedy was too painful for audiences; it was performed with an altered happy ending. But Edward St. Aubyn has never flinched at inflicting pain on his readers.

      4 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Grimm's War

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Grimm's War - Kenneth McDonald

      Grimm’s War

      Book One of the Grimm Trilogy, Part of the Mages of Sacreth Series

      Kenneth McDonald

      Kmcdonald4101@gmail.com

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2013 by Kenneth McDonald

      Cover Credit: The cover illustration is taken from the painting On the Berry Trail – Grand Canyon of Arizona (1903) by Thomas Moran. The image is in the public domain.

      * * * * *

      Works by Kenneth McDonald

      Wizard’s Shield

      The Mages of Sacreth

      The Labyrinth

      Of Spells and Demons

      Grimm’s War

      Grimm’s Loss (Spring 2013)

      The Godswar Trilogy

      Paths of the Chosen

      Choice of the Fallen

      Fall of Creation

      Daran’s Journey

      Heart of a Hero

      Soul of a Coward

      Will of a Warrior

      Courage of a Champion

      * * * * *

      Prologue

      In a clearing deep within the fastness of the Forever Wood, a man waited to die.

      The space under the thick green canopy had been cleared by human hands, and a dozen gnarled stumps remained as evidence of their labors. The gap that showed the thick gray overcast sky above was narrow and uneven, as though the greenery had been cut open with a dagger. By the time that the light made it through that opening to the forest floor it was wan and tentative, leaving even the space in the middle of the clearing thick with shadows. A damp wind promised rain before nightfall, and rustled the carpet of fallen leaves already sodden by earlier deluges. The spring storms were nearly ended, but the season seemed intent on departing with vigor.

      A rude hut lay against one edge of the clearing, sagging under its own weight. Opposite it was the unfortunate prisoner, bound to a framework fashioned out of young trees that had been bent and lashed together with heavy cords. He hung about a foot off the ground, his ankles and wrists tied to the boles of the trees. A small mound of branches lay on the ground beneath him, ominous in its intent. The captive was clad only in the remnants of a breechclout, which hung from his hips in ragged tatters. He was filthy, his skin slick with grime, his hair and beard matted and wild, but even in his current state it was evident that he was a warrior. Old scars crossed his torso and limbs, where sculpted muscles showed despite the prisoner’s unfortunate condition. Dried blood caked in fresh injuries suggested that he had not been taken easily, and one side of his face was covered in bruises that had faded into a mottled landscape of deep colors. His chest rose and fell in gentle heaves.

      The prisoner’s head rose as the flap of leather that served as the door of the hut opened. A man stepped out into the clearing. As big as the captive, the newcomer was clad in layers of fur and leather. He was well armed, with both a throwing axe and long dirk stuck through his belt. His face was covered with a wooden mask, a vague oval with narrow slits for his eyes, nose, and mouth.

      The prisoner kept his head up only with an obvious effort. The eye on the bruised side of his face was swollen shut, the lashes sealed by a crust of old blood. The other eye blinked as the masked figure approached. Fieran, is that you? he asked, his voice as cracked as his dry lips. No mask can disguise you from me, Fieran. Why are you doing this?

      The masked man stopped. That is no longer who I am. My name is Mortus now.

      Whatever you call yourself… you are still my brother.

      It was you who cast me out, Abell. You who severed the bonds that connected us.

      Abell spit a glob of blood from the cuts his speaking had opened again. You were… you were sick in the head, Fieran. I could have forgiven your crimes against me, brother, but you harmed others, threatened our people.

      They were of limited vision, Mortus said. They were like you, walking through life with their eyes and hearts closed to what was around them.

      The prisoner’s head sagged, but he managed to keep it up enough to meet the masked man’s gaze. So now you will get your revenge by torturing me.

      The eyes behind the mask flashed. I take no pleasure in this.

      Abell’s lips twisted into a bloody smile. Liar, he said.

      Mortus came to him. Abell struggled to break free of his bonds, but the warrior was already spent, and managed only a few weak pulls against the tight leather straps. Mortus ignored his efforts and drew out from inside his coat an object attached to a throng. It was a crystal, slightly larger than a chicken’s egg, pale white and covered with irregular facets. It seemed to glow faintly in the light of the fading day. He flicked the cord around the prisoner’s neck and laid the crystal against the center of his chest.

      Abell watched him but said nothing as Mortus continued his preparations. The shaman drew out a fold of leather from a pocket of his cloak. He pointed the packet at each of the four cardinal directions, ending with him directly facing the prisoner. He muttered something under his breath as he unfolded the packet and tapped a handful of finely ground powder into his hand. He continued the chant as he held his fist in front of Abell’s face, the trailing motes sparkling as they fell from his grasp to the ground. Then with a final guttural syllable he threw the powder down into the heaped branches at his feet. The wood was damp, but the powder flashed with a bright flare that faded to eager flames. Abell flinched back reflexively, but could no more escape his prison than he could his fate.

      The wet wood released a thick, cloying smoke as it burned, rising in a column to swirl around both Abell and Mortus. The shaman continued his chant, sliding in and out of the smoke. Something flashed in his hand, and as he drew back blood coursed down from a fresh gash in the prisoner’s chest. Abell, all but insensate now, barely reacted.

      The grim ritual continued for some time, until Abell bled from a dozen wounds. The blood trailed down his body in long slicks, finally dripping into the flames. The fire, never intense enough to seriously threaten the captive warrior, was already beginning to die. Mortus approached again through the rising smoke, his knife bloody in his hand.

      Abell mustered a last bit of energy. Finish me, he begged. Send me to death with some vestige of honor.

      The priest’s eyes were cold. I am not sending you anywhere, he said, his voice hollow behind the mask. He stepped forward and drove his knife into the warrior’s heart.

      Abell jerked, but instead of a gush of blood, a tendril of red mist emerged from the wound. A hiss like a punctured bladder came from the warrior, and he dangled from his bindings as the odd vapors continued to pour from his body. But instead of joining the fading plume of smoke from the fire that rose into the air, the red mist traveled only as far as the crystal, where it was absorbed by the pale rock. Striations of crimson flickered within the crystal, and as the last of the red smoke disappeared it continued to glow, now with a faint ruddy hue.

      Mortus watched for a few moments longer, then reached up and yanked hard, ripping the crystal from its mooring. He held it in his hand, staring at the glow that was now unmistakable as coming from within.

      Now it begins, he said.

      * * * * *

      Chapter 1

      Eldwen Grimm, standing unsteadily in a dark alley, looked down at the body of the man he had just killed.

      The young man’s head swam as he looked down at the sword in his hand. Even in the near-darkness he could see the blood trailing down its length and dripping from its tip. His head swam. He heard voices, and looked toward them down the length of the alley ahead, which seemed to grow until it extended almost to infinity. There were shadows in that vague distance, and the patter of booted feet running on the muddy ground.

      His eyes were drawn back to the dead man. A face flashed in his mind, the face of the man who he’d been laughing and drinking with not ten minutes before. He stank, fresh odors over the stale fetor that filled all of Bel Wilder, concentrated here in the confines of the narrow space. Doorways recessed into the walls loomed menacingly all around; it was from one of those that the ambushers had appeared.

      He sagged against the wall. A loud clang startled him; he’d dropped his sword. He looked down at his hand. He had to bring it almost up to his face to be able to see the outline of his fingers.

      A groan drew his attention. Memory brought a flush of shame, and he staggered back, dropped to his knees beside his companion. Kiros, are you all right? Kiros!

      The fallen man did not stir; he might have been as dead as the other. Grimm tried to feel for the lifebeat in his friend’s neck, but his fingers felt thick and clumsy. He slumped back against the wall, trying to steady the swaying of the surrounding walls.

      Drugged, he thought. He hadn’t drunk that much, not like Kiros, who had eagerly drained each of the mugs that the men had foisted upon them. Honoring the Border Wardens, they’d said. But there hadn’t been any honor in this alley, he thought.

      He felt sick, his guts clenching from whatever had been put in his drink. Kiros could be dead or dying. And while the would-be thieves had fled, they could be back; he was in no shape to stop them a second time.

      He shouted for help. His throat felt raw, his voice feeble. He yelled again, forcing himself up to his knees. He could get no farther than that.

      That was how the Watch found him, on his knees, lying in a mess of dirt and blood.

      * * *

      Grimm’s skull felt like gnomes were pounding on it from inside with tiny hammers. A cool wind blew hard from the north, from across the river, but in his current misery he barely noticed it. It was a busy morning in Bel Wilder, the din adding to his discomfort. The border town was expanding, taking its share of the prosperity that flowed from the north, crossing the Stoneflow River at the ford that the town guarded. The lands beyond the river remained sparsely populated, especially by contrast with Sacreth or the cities along the Tiroan coast to the west, but they were swelling now with the combined lure of the silver boom in the White Mountains and the outposts probing into the Forever Wood.

      Bel Wilder’s growing pains had brought more than prosperity. Grimm was greeted with stinks, shouts, and sights that had already become familiar in the month that he’d spent here. He saw several beggars, who shrank back into the shadows of the buildings along the street when they caught sight of his uniform. And even that early the taverns were open and doing a brisk business. He caught sight of The Alewife’s Daughter, and the dark alley next to it, and felt a cold chill that penetrated through his hangover. He hastened his steps, focused on his destination at the end of the street.

      The Warden camp overlooked the ford, and it too was busy, with men and horses coming and going in a steady stream. A patrol was just getting ready to embark on a sweep across the river; he waited until they were past before he walked through the main gate. His eyes drifted up to the hill overlooking the town, where the outlines of the fort under construction near the summit were clearly visible. Supposedly the Wardens would relocate up there once the building was complete, but from the looks of things it would be years before that would happen. With all the building going on in Bel Wilder, the Wardens had to get in line for the available pool of labor.

      The gate was clear, but still he hesitated. The guard on duty glanced over at him with a knowing look. That brief contact gave him the nudge he needed to enter the camp.

      The interior of the camp was crowded, with every bit of space inside the stockade wall put to use. Bel Wilder itself was not warded with a wall; the ford itself served as its protection. The north side of the camp was equipped with a palisade that let archers or mages command the crossing. The down side was that the buildings of the camp had to be packed in against the remaining sides of the stockade. Those structures included a stable, itself more spacious than the barracks opposite, two storehouses, and an infirmary. Grimm’s destination was a tiny hut attached to the side of the barracks. The hut had a pair of slit windows that seemed to watch his approach like narrowed eyes.

      The foyer of the hut was so cramped that he could not open the door fully without hitting the desk that sat in the center of the space. The sergeant there shot him an annoyed look before gesturing him to the narrow bench that lined the wall. Grimm obeyed and waited there, ignored by the sergeant who went back to a stack of reports that were overflowing the wooden box on the edge of the desk. He scanned the room, an exercise that took all of about ten seconds, his eyes lingering on the door behind the desk.

      Time passed. It took all of Grimm’s discipline to sit there quietly and ignore the pounding within his skull. He was glad he had spent the night at the Watch’s station in the town; at least he was relatively coherent now. He could not help but revisit his scattered memories of the previous night in his mind, his thoughts drifting back to that bloody scene in the alley, the bloody mess of a man lying at his feet.

      Recruit, came a voice, cutting through his musings.

      Grimm started and looked up to find the sergeant staring down at him. He realized that he’d missed the man’s first summons. Sorry, sergeant, he said, rising quickly. He started around the desk, but the sergeant stopped him with a raised hand.

      Your steel, son.

      Grimm blinked; he didn’t comprehend until the sergeant nodded toward his sword. Coloring slightly, he unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over. The sergeant gave him a look that might have been apologetic, then stepped aside to let him through the far door.

      The office was only incrementally larger than the front room, with an almost identical desk again the dominant piece of furniture. The space behind the desk was flanked by shelving, file cabinets, and a compact armoire equipped with a lock. Almost every available space was full of parchment rolls, folios, and bound books, though Grimm’s eyes drifted up to the Warden sword mounted on pins just above one of the cabinets.

      The room’s occupant cleared his throat thickly, drawing Grimm’s attention back with a start. The eyes that fixed his were a pale blue, and possessed of a power that had Grimm snapping instantly to attention. The owner of that stare was clad in the uniform of a Warden officer that couldn’t hide the iron lines of the man wearing it.

      At ease, the officer said, though there was nothing of ease in his tone. Get the door, recruit.

      The office was so small that Grimm only had to turn slightly to close the door behind him. He waited as the officer drew out a small leather folio from the cubby built into the side of his desk, extracting a parchment sheet from it that he spread out in front of him.

      Grimm, he said, though Grimm saw that he didn’t so much as look down at the record in front of him. Eldwen Grimm.

      That’s right, Commander Gaerand.

      How long have you been posted here, Grimm?

      The information was marked on his file, but he knew better than to mention that. Just under a month, sir.

      And your age, recruit?

      Nineteen, sir.

      You just started your Service.

      Yes, sir. I spent six weeks at Palrith Nor, then I was assigned here.

      It takes more than a month and a half of training to make a Border Warden, recruit.

      Yes, sir.

      We hold ourselves to a higher standard, recruit, both on and off duty, both in and out of uniform. That is because our duty, our oath, sets us apart from the people that we are sworn to protect.

      Grimm did not respond.

      Gaerand tapped the paper in front of him. I read the Watch report about last night’s… incident. Is there anything that you would like to add?

      Sir… I haven’t heard anything more about Recruit Beldran. Is he…

      Beldran is being treated for his injuries. Mage Norrin says that he will recover.

      Grimm let out a sigh of relief. And the men who attacked us…

      They will be found, Gaerand said, in a tone that invited no further discussion.

      Grimm was wise enough to know when to shut up. He waited.

      I am initiating a new policy on off-duty fraternization with the local population, Gaerand said. That will be unpopular with both the garrison and the local business interests, but frankly, I do not care about their feelings. The carelessness of you and your fellow soldier, however, have embarrassed the Wardens.

      Grimm realized that anything he said would only dig him in deeper, so he withstood the barrage in silence. Gaerand waited a moment, eyebrow slightly raised. When it became clear that Grimm had nothing to say, the officer slid another parchment out of his case. This one was a compact, creased fold of the sort used to transmit orders.

      You have done me one small favor, Grimm. I have received orders to dispatch a Warden to extended duty beyond the frontier. He took a quill pen and dashed something onto the bottom of the orders form. Since you have ‘volunteered’ for this duty, you will await the arrival of a company en route to Outpost Edelvar. Until then, you are confined to camp. He folded the parchment and with practiced ease applied a dab of soft wax and pressed it closed with a Warden seal. He extended the document toward Grimm. Do you understand your orders, recruit?

      Grimm felt as though someone had reached into his guts and clenched them into a fist, but he said nothing as he accepted the paper. Yes, commander.

      Gaerand’s expression showed that he understood Grimm’s dismay fully, and took satisfaction in it. Dismissed, he said.

      Unable to do anything else, Grimm saluted, then turned and left.

      He found himself a few minutes later standing in the crowded courtyard of the legion camp. He didn’t remember leaving the command hut or speaking with the duty sergeant, but the words of his commander—former commander, he amended—continued to ring in his ears. Edelvar. His eyes drifted north, though of course he couldn’t see anything over the wall. Only one man stood atop the banquette that ran along the length of the palisade. Grimm wondered what the sentry saw. He had not been across the river himself; while some commanders believed in putting new men on the front lines immediately, Gaerand was of the school that preferred to assign veterans to difficult patrols. Intellectually he knew that he was being foolish in his fears; Sacreth was not at war, and certainly there were no great states or even powerful towns in the northern reaches, nothing that posed a real threat to the stability and prosperity of the Valley Kingdom. But there were plenty of stories told in the barracks about the Forever Wood and its dangers, and for all that it was the job of the Border Wardens to watch the frontier, a posting at Edelvar was hardly what he’d been expecting when he’d begun his year of mandatory service.

      He rubbed the back of his head, hearing in his mind his father’s words. That which cannot be changed, son, must be endured. Trying to leave aside useless worries, he walked over to the infirmary.

      The place was the sole building in the camp built of stone, and it was crafted like a bunker, with narrow slit windows that seemed like they had been designed with defense in mind. He had to duck to clear the low doorway and was greeted with a smell that his mind associated with sickness, the odor of the harsh substances that the mages used to treat injury and disease. The front of the room contained six bunks arranged along the walls, before a dark curtain that partitioned off the back portion. Kiros lay in the only occupied bunk, covered with a blanket, but Grimm hesitated in the doorway, uncertain.

      Magic was being wrought here.

      A gemstone lay atop the injured Warden’s forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. It was small and flat, barely as big as a Sacrethan silver piece, and it glowed with a soft silvery radiance that cast Kiros’s pale features into relief. It was healing magic, Grimm knew, benign if not benevolent, but he still could not take his eyes off it.

      Close that door, a voice said, interrupting his reverie.

      Grimm nearly jumped in surprise. He looked up at the speaker, who’d emerged from around the edge of the curtain that divided the room.

      Mage Norrin, Grimm said. I was just… I just wanted to see how he was doing.

      You can see him just fine with the door closed, the mage said. This cellar is damned hard to keep warm even without the draft.

      Grimm hastily closed the door behind him. When he turned back the mage had come forward into the room, where the light from the windows revealed more details of his features. He was still a young man, likely shy of thirty, with a neatly-groomed beard and dark, piercing eyes. He wore a full robe rather than the short hybrids with trousers that most mages favored. Not that Grimm had met many mages, but in Sacreth, ruled by the Order and the Mage Council, it was impossible not to be aware of them. The light gleamed on the silver buckle that the mage wore, fashioned into the shape of a many-faceted gemstone.

      He will recover, though you soldier-types are entirely too casual with regard to head wounds. Blows to the skull can be incredibly serious, even if there are no immediate symptoms of damage to the brain.

      We didn’t actually get a chance to put on helmets, Mage Norrin.

      Hmm, yes. Well, you may speak to him, though he may not be entirely lucid. Do not move him, however, and do not dislodge the gem, it will take time yet for the magic to fully permeate that thick head of his.

      Thank you, Mage.

      And how are you, Warden? I understand that you were both dosed with a sedative. You look a little… peaked.

      I’m fine, Grimm said, but even as he said it he thought again of the long road ahead of him. From his look the mage doubted him, but he only said, Keep it brief. He needs to rest.

      Grimm went over to the cot. Kiros seemed to be awake, but he was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes blank beneath the radiating shine coming from the gem. He didn’t respond until Grimm knelt beside the cot, and touched him on the arm. Even then only his eyes shifted; it was as if the power of the gem kept him frozen in place. Grimm avoided looking at it, though the glow shone in the corner of his eyes even as he turned his

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1