A Sword Of Wrath, Book I by K. E. MacLeod (best way to read ebooks TXT) 📕

Timonus was stunned into silence. After a moment she became concerned with his lack of response and asked, "Is that... upsetting to you... or-"

"No," he shook his head, "I'm just surprised at your being so young yet being so self-reliant."

The pleased smile reappeared on her face, "I told you, I am a survivor. I always have been."

"Well, Moriana, you certainly have my admiration, I'll give you that."

Her face took on an odd expression as she looked uncomfortably down at her lap again, eyeing her half finished piece of rabbit, "It... it’s Hanna."

"What?"

"My, um," she cleared her throat and looked up at him, "my real name, you asked earlier about it. Well, it's Hanna." She laughed nervously, "Though no one has called me that in quite awhile."

"Well, Hanna," he smiled, "you have taught me many things on our little adventure so far. I look forward to what tomorrow and Feronia brings us."

"Yes, well, we veneficas don't think of the future. We concentrate only on the present," she flashed him a quick smile then looked away before he could see the pain that appeared behind it. "But for now, Legate, we should rest."

* * *

Lucan's heart pounded heavily within his wide chest as he sneaked in and out amongst the shadows of the palace and entered a narrow door that was located behind a heavy, large tapestry. Depicted on the tapestry was, as some citizens of Lycania would argue, a slight misrepresentation of the Peacebringer's triumphant return to Odalia atop a resplendent elephant.

The room he walked into was small and dark. A tiny window near the ceiling let the slightest streak of silver moonlight fling itself across a table that was taking up most of the space in the cramped area. On top of the table, he could see three sets of hands resting in the luminescence while the entirety of the rest of their owners' bodies remained in shadow. The pair of hands in the middle possessed long gnarled fingers, stained black. They remained clasped even as the slightly smoky voice that they belonged to spoke aloud, "Lucan, my little man, are the plans in place?"

"They are, M'lady." His tiny eyes darted around, as they were wont to do.

"And what of the Legate?"

"He is on the mission to Feronia, just as we planned. I am hoping he will not return for two weeks at least. Although, as I know him, once he discovers there is no actual root blight to speak of, he will return immediately."

"But, he is with us?"

Lucan nodded vigorously, "Oh, yes, very much!"

"And the Vandal? Has he done his part?"

"You mean the munus? Yes, though...," he hesitated.

"What is it, little man?"

"He... he hasn't many fighters to display."

"That is not our problem nor our interest. All we care about is that he provides the munus."

Lucan nodded once, "Yes, M'lady, that is a definite."

"Does he know of our plans?"

"No, absolutely not. I made sure of it."

"Then," the owner of the raspy voice leaned forward but all Lucan could see was an unsettling smile within the darkness, her as lips black as the shadows around her face but her teeth bright white, "gentlemen, we will put our plan into motion. The Empire of Lycania is a ripe peach, ready for the plucking."

"Y-yes, M'lady," Lucan bowed nervously. "The Mother Wolf protects us all."

The voice in the shadows chuckled, "Yes, may the Mother Wolf protect all of her children, even the wayward ones."

* * *

Chapter Four

"What is it that vexes you, my husband? You seem lost among your thoughts out here." Nona pulled her antique woolen wrap tighter around her shoulders as she approached Severus. The winds around them were changing and though the air was still warm, the breeze held within it a chill that she could feel deep inside her bones.

She had wandered out to the clearing after having spotted Severus from the front stoop of their home as she was preparing the evening meal. He was standing against the newly completed wall and staring off into the distance. He had been doing so for quite awhile and it was concern for his strange behavior that had driven her to his side.

Severus was slow to answer as he rested his elbows atop the chest-high dry stone wall and stared out across the newly cleared field. How many years had he worked to clear this land? How many months had it taken to haul the stones up from the shore and place the wall, layer by layer, course by course, until it stood strong? It did not matter because now it was before him, real and complete.

He responded to his wife the only way he knew how, "Your concern is unneeded; I have many thoughts in my head that you are not privy to nor would I want you to be."

Nona pursed her lips, stiffening at the slight, "Yes. I know this quite well."

He looked at her briefly in surprise, then back out across the bare field, "I'm... sorry, Nona, I..." He could think of no way to finish his sentence. He hadn't meant for his words to come out so harsh, nor so incomplete. What Severus had truly meant to say was that there were a great many things on his mind and he did not want to burden her with them. His silence had only arisen as he had searched for a way to quell the painful memories that had recently floated up, unbidden, to the surface of his mind.

Feeling that her attempts to console him had been in vain, Nona took a step back, "I should tend to the children, dear husband," - her latter address of him came out slightly tinged with venom. "Dinner will be served soon; I do hope you will join us." She turned away and abandoned him to his thoughts.

Severus glanced briefly at his wife as she walked back to their home and a look of sadness crossed his face. He wanted nothing more than to let her know what existed inside of him but he was afraid - afraid that if she knew the truth of the things he had done in this life, that it would destroy her.

Severus turned his gaze back out upon the land, slowly examining every inch of turf until his eyes came to rest at the site where the barracks of the Order would soon stand. Unlike the timber homes of the Cavalli, the barracks would be built using the same stones he had used for the wall and then topped with thatched roofs. He would be glad to see the Order rise again as he and his father had dreamt so many years ago.

The Order, once a legendary guild world-renowned for their skillful sword prowess on the battlefield, had a long and varied legacy dating back to a time when history wasn't written down but instead spoken aloud. Originally known as the Gabrantovici, or "horse-riding warriors", the Order's membership had numbered well into the thousands during its apex. At the time, the Cavalli were still separated into small nomadic bands that stretched wide across the open plains and it was because of this that they lacked a properly unified military defense. The Order soon became the perfect surrogate to staunch the steady flow of attacks from their Lycanian enemies who were fast encroaching from the North.

But as the attackers grew in numbers, not even the might of the Order could stop the conquering tide as it moved ever forward. Soon the Lycanian forces began to overwhelm the Order, thus bringing about the decade-long Desolate Wars and by the time the struggle was over, the Order's numbers had been all but decimated. Then, as all members of the Cavalli had been forced into the Aulus Forest, they were no longer the great horse-riding warriors they had once been but had instead become lumbering swordsmen on foot.

Sadly, with each passing year after the end of the war, it became more and more difficult to find men willing to fight in the Order and within two generations the numbers had dwindled to near nil. Then, with the death of Severus' father and his fellow Elders, the Order's fate was sealed and it was no more.

Somehow sensing the inevitability of its demise, Severus' father, Atticus, had championed his oldest son to lead a new Order on the day that he had reached his first decade. Atticus led the boy into a clearing deep within the forest and as they walked further and further into the trees, Severus became less familiar with his surroundings.

Finally, as the sunlight dimmed overhead, they stopped and Atticus had Severus sit upon a fallen log as he disappeared further into the copse for a brief moment. When he returned, he bore with him a sword that was unlike any that the boy had ever seen. It was large, made of heavy steel and longer than Severus was tall. His father thrust it towards him and commanded that he take it. As Severus grasped the hilt within his small hands, he nearly fell forward with the weight of it.

"Severus, my son," his father righted him as the boy struggled to stand, "you may not be able to lift this weapon now but you must believe that one day you will hold it high, high above your head and the heads of your enemies. It is the sword of your father's father, and his father, going back seven generations."

"But what will I do with it, Father?"

He knelt down and grasped the sword alongside Severus, "My son, I have seen in you the markers of a great swordsman and I believe you will lead others to be as well. So, take this sword with me, my son, and together we will rebuild the Order."

The young Severus accepted his father's legacy and every day that followed, for hours at a time, they would practice in the clearing - sword clashing against sword as the sound of their strikes echoed throughout the forest and over the village of Two-Crows.

He thought of his father, many years later, lying upon his deathbed after he had been mortally wounded during their fight with a Giant. His face was pained as the infection from the wound sped its way through his body. He had refused Tacitus' pain-killing salves, saying that a death from battle was the most honorable death he could imagine for himself and he wouldn't see it diminished in any way.

As he slipped away upon his bed, he called Severus to his side. "My son, you must promise to carry on the Order. All of our plans, all of our training, you must pass it on to the coming generations for one day it will be you in this bed and the Order will remain our family's only legacy."

"Of course I will, Father," he had answered swiftly, trying his best to appease the old warrior before he took the Great Walk.

"Your mother and brothers," he continued, "they will be of great help to you in this endeavor. All save Tacitus. He is not a fighter, my son, and even though the Elders will say different, there is no shame in that. You must never let him feel shame for that, for