Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 32

Up on the wooden platform, fire crackled in a small brazier in a corner. Erected upon a raised patch of land, the watchtower offered a grand view of the village and the rolling plains beyond. The lake glistened silver in the moonlight. Snow-capped mountains glittered, off to the northern edge of Kinallen.

After many a heartbeats spent in quiet uncertainty, she finally asked the night-archer, whose name she learnt was Dorin Farler, the reason behind their worshipping of the God of Winter.

He'd rummaged around in a desk and simply shown her a well-worn map of Stormvale.

"Despite King Forthwind's protection," he said, pale finger resting upon the name on the parchment, "Valston remains our safe haven from the Drisian vampire hunters. Yet due to its position at the foot of the Drakhall mountains, our home is ever assailed by blizzards. Besides that, landslides and avalanches are something our folk has to live with. Thus the King of Winter must be appeased, else he shall unleash his wrath upon us, our homes-- our very souls."

"But why is he so angry?" That was a question that had bugged Farren for a long while.

Dorin Farler's bloodless face had gone solemn. "Because we mortals brought on the Great War. Raised a whirlwind of chaos, amidst which Edis lost his brother he so dearly loved."

The vampirefolk of the north had their own different version of the story of the Winter God and his brother, much different from the one Gran used to tell Farren. In this tale, it was not Rhilio who was the villain, but the people of Stormvale themselves.

Bathed in the moonlight peeking through gaps in the watchtower roof, Farren had turned to the night-archer with a final question. "Will there ever be an end to his wrath?"

"Until the brothers are reunited, he shall never find peace. We have but little to offer by ways of meager tributes."

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Today, as winds howled through the trees around them and the frost clawed through their armour, Farren was left wondering. Had centuries worth of offerings and tributes ever managed to pacify his fury?

What gripped Farren more than the cold was... impatience. Anticipation clawed at her stomach, mind racing to assume all the things that could go wrong.

What is this part of the plan supposed to achieve?

Why must a select group of soldiers lie in wait, hidden behind trees and bushes while the fight went on in the village?

"Stay hidden, and wait," was all her squad leader, Klo had told them.

Hidden behind a moss-covered boulder, Klo was now at Farren's side, her dark, stern eyes fixed upon the trail. Farren did not have the courage to enquire about the purpose of this... stalking. The sergeant was already furious at Farren and Gray for leaving their positions and sneaking out to the village earlier.

On her other side crouched Rendarr, his patience absolute and unperturbed-- the sole reason being he was sure a group of bandits were to come up this trail, and they were all supposed to ambush them. Although this belief solely belonged to him.

Klo had confirmed nothing of the sort.

The sound of snow crunching beneath hooves caught Farren's attention at once. She swung her gaze to the trail.

Two men came riding, their mounts approaching at a slow trot. Engaged in conversation, they stopped not far from the boulder behind which Farren now sat hidden.

Her heart pounded as she looked upon the faces of the two men.

Karles and Dion.

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