Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 33

A wasted effort.

Gods, I'm done for.

With fading vision, Linder peered above at the slow, graceful descent of snow. The storm had died down. A shrill ringing echoed in his ears, drowning out all else.

By now, Karles must have already done his part, and the true culprit had been brought before the disbelieving eyes of the soldiers of Kinallen. The mystery was resolved, and his job was finished. Kinallen needed him no more.

What did it matter now if Linder survived or not? This wretch of a soldier who couldn't even get himself a place among the Royal Guards?

'That dust-clogged, disease-ridden mine is where you belong.' Father had written to him only once, and not a word more.

Now, tottering at the edge of oblivion, he did not feel like resisting. He'd been yearning for a year-long break. Peace.

This could be his chance. Not merely a year, but all eternity. He was exhausted, so very tired of it all.

Screams of agony sounded behind him. Bodies were flung. Linder struggled to glance over his shoulder, the effort taking every last bit of his energy left.

The Vasaen was still there, not more than a hundred paces away, engaged in combat with the soldiers who had been trying to rush to help Linder-- and, unsurprisingly, the sorcerous monster was no match for them.

He was throwing around fully armed men as though they weighed nothing. They shouted, they bled, yet did not cease to fight.

Fight.

"Hang in there, Sarge!" shouted one of the soldiers.

The words, although meant to reassure him, landed like a harsh slap across Linder's face, and dragged him back from the miserable acceptance of death he'd been wallowing within. His frozen hands still gripped the dagger. The air filling his lungs was ice cold, his blood, although running out fast, was still warm. Alive. Alive.

Rhilio's mercy, what was I thinking?

How could he leave all these soldiers to the mercy of a Vasaen? That monster would slaughter the whole village.

Damnit, Clearstrike-- she trusted me with the dagger for a reason!

Groaning, one hand clasping his stomach, Linder got to his feet and swung to face the fight in the distance. A slow smile curled his split lips. He was in no shape for a head on fight.

Nevertheless, he still had one last trick up his sleeve, or rather, vambrace.

Crystal dagger clasped in his right hand, he broke into a sprint-- or what little he could manage in the way of running-- and lunged at the Vasaen from behind.

The Vasaen, of course, swung to parry the attack. A choked gasp left Linder as the man's longsword impaled his right arm-- incapacitating the hand he'd been holding the dagger with. Linder doubled over, sinking to one knee.

"So the dog's still alive, eh?" said the killer, teeth bared in a snarl.

"Seems like it. And you just walked right into that dog's trap." Linder looked the man in the eye and forced a smile.

"What're you raving about?"

Linder simply dropped the dagger from his right hand into his left. He dug it deep into the man's thigh-- through flesh and through bone.

He wouldn't be so dangerous if he can't walk, would he?

The Vasaen let out a blood-curdling scream, but Linder didn't stop, he yanked out the dagger, stabbed again, the other leg-- below the knee-- onto the foot-- until he hit an artery. Black blood sprayed across his face.