Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

Then, the world dissolved into hits thrown and blocked. One of Delyth’s opponents was flung bodily over a card game. Another had his skull cracked into a wall.

She wouldn’t draw Calamity, not unless she had to.

With Alphonse so close to harm’s way, she didn’t think many would survive that bloodlust.

Thankfully, the rogue was there instead. He dodged around a bigger fighter, letting him tire himself out until the rogue could get in and disarm him. One tap from the man’s own club, and he went out like a light.

The rogue tossed the club to Delyth, and then she really started to make progress, knocking heads and throats until few still stood. And then, there was Enyo, laughing her ass off as she wiped at her face, licking her fingertips and dodging swerving brawling bodies with a look of triumph pasted to her features. The priestess gripped her by the arms.

“How’s that for tribute?” Delyth snarled and hauled Enyo towards the door, the rogue carving a path before them.

Enyo let Delyth take her out of the gambling den, laughing the entire way. Her cheeks were high with color, and her eyes overly bright. All but glowing. She watched the others move out of their way and smirked as Delyth deposited her in the quiet safety of the street.

A slender finger reached up to smear the blood of that first man across her face, tracing idle patterns there, not unlike the ones those fingers had drawn into Delyth’s wing the night before. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that yourself Ba’oto. A little squabble to get the juices flowing…” Enyo turned towards her new friend, his hair messy, breath fast and light. “He’s a much better fighter than that frail one,” she murmured, perhaps hearing Etienne’s familiar footsteps approaching from afar.

Delyth had the thoroughly disconcerting feeling of agreeing with Enyo, on not one point, but two.

The only thing that came near the thrill of fighting was flying, and even that didn’t leave her blood singing with the raw joy of pitting her strength against another and finding it worthy of the task. She was so full of the rush of it that she didn’t even stop to wipe the blood from her hands. The smell of it was already pulsing through her lungs, mingled with that of sweat and fear. Did that mean she was, on some level, just as bloodthirsty as Enyo?

Delyth wasn’t sure, but she found the possibility deeply disturbing.

By the same token, the priestess had to admit that their escape would not have gone anywhere near so smoothly without the help of the rogue. She sighed and held out her hand to him. “Thanks for that,” she said, a little gruffly. “I’m Delyth.”

The man took her hand, still breathing hard, but smiling. “Tristan.”

Behind them, Etienne approached, a lone figure in a crowd of people edging away. “What in all hells happened?” he asked, mouth agape. His pack was filled to the brim.

Delyth just shook her head and gestured to Enyo. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Enyo only smirked and sauntered over to Tristan, snaking her arm through his possessively while smiling at Etienne as if he were the dove and she the hawk. “I am ready to leave this clan,” she announced, as if they needed her permission to move on.

Etienne looked between Tristan and the familiar faces of his companions. “I thought you were getting her wine!” he said, astonished. “Not a person! What about Al—”

Delyth cut him off. “Cursed Realms, Etienne, not now.”

She was glancing back at the gambling house behind them, where a number of unhappy, bruised men were beginning to stir. She all but pushed him around. “Let’s go.”

“But wait!” Etienne protested immediately. “He’s coming with us?”

Delyth glanced over her wingless shoulder and gave a short nod. “Yes, it seems he is. Now move, Etienne.”

The scholar finally noted the precarious nature of their position in the street and stepped towards the entrance to the settlement, Delyth bloody and sore behind him.

Chapter XII

Fifth Moon, Waning Crescent: Thloegr

Excerpt from the Journal of Etienne d’Etoiles

Fifth Moon of the Year 1819, North of the Aur’Draig Clan Holdings

It has come to my attention that much of what I was told of the Wildlands was incorrect. It pains me to admit this as I yet have so much respect for the masters of Moxous, who were my teachers for a decade, but my own experiences cannot be dismissed. We have been traveling for weeks now, and not once have we been attacked, robbed, or inconvenienced by the people of this land.

The Aur’draig settlement was by no means a technical marvel, but it is equal or better than any small Ingolan town I have passed through in terms of organization. In size and diversity, it is a marvel. The people there largely ignored my obviously Ingolan features; they were open and friendly when I came to trade with them. In fact, the sheer number of  different peoples hints that the Wildlands are as used to trade as Dailion and the port cities along Ingola’s western coast.

None of this corresponds to the information Alphonse and I were given at school, that the Wildlands was a lawless, war-torn place overrun with cutthroats of every description. Even the name we gave the lands that once were Rhosan is wrong. The people here call their home “Thloegr.” It means “lost land” according to Delyth, as though to commemorate all that Rhosan lost in the Great War.

If Thloegr is less civilized than Ingola, perhaps it is even Ingola’s fault for the destruction they wreaked during that war. There is still much to research, but I look forward to discussing it upon our return home.

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The walk from Aur’draig was uneventful. Enyo did not hurt herself or anyone else, did not threaten anyone, run off to eat, kill or swim. She didn’t do anything but luxuriously let her hands wander