Kelgar staggered into the kitchen. The smell of freshly baking bread filled his nostrils, a welcome respite from the stench of his own sweat mingled with Vance’s blood. The first rays of sunlight were peering over the mountaintops, staining the morning with gold. At the breaking of the dawn Vance’s face had been warm once more, glowing pink with the sun’s kiss where before it had been pallid in the moon’s draining embrace. He looked peaceful, his face relaxing as the night chill was dispelled.

He inwardly cursed as he looked up to see the early morning bustle of the kitchen had begun. He had been hoping to find only Osras breaking his fast before taking over guard duty from Kelgar, and perhaps Polina. It was much worse he thought, as his gaze fell on Illewen who was softly cooing to her baby as Polina stoked the cools beneath the giant pot of porridge that hung perilously close to the flames. Though she was bent over he could clearly see the swollen outline of her belly where she carried his brother’s second child. At Illewen’s feet sat Osra’s firstborn, his niece, Esther, thumping her tiny feet against the packed earth floor.

(more…)

Kelgar scraped his back against the wall in irritation, the rusty links of mail rasping against his back. He had an itch in the most impossible of places and it was driving him half-mad.

(more…)

Lochan was pacing back and forth, his heavy boots thudding drearily against the floor. Harndall wished he would stop. It was difficult enough to concentrate on the scrawling, ancient text as it was. The book was swollen and musty, the pages bloated and blurred with smudged ink. It may have survived in the relative safety of the cracked wall but the mildewed covers had definitely been witness to the temperamental weather of Mhalwae. Harndall was surprised there was anything coherent left, but he had been able to make out scratches of wavering letters here and there.

(more…)