Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

from last night’s meal. Does that sound reasonable to you, Delyth?” Meirin offered, sitting back from the fires growing heat to rummage around in her pack.

Pulling out the muddy paste that was her war paint, she unwrapped it carefully and took off the lid. Dabbing her forefinger in the yellow stuff, Meirin started the slow process of reapplying it to her eyes and chin.

Delyth nodded, her face set in that stone-calm that she wore so often. “Thank you, Meirin.”

The warrior set about tearing down her tent, packing it carefully around her few things. Meirin had all but finished applying her paint when Etienne fell out of his tent and hit the ground hard, his hair and clothes mussed from sleep.

To Meirin’s surprise, Delyth snorted. It was very nearly a laugh.

The clanswoman couldn’t manage that level of composure.She doubled over in fits of laughter. The trip line they had left up the night before was tangled about his feet, and in his sleepy state, Etienne hadn’t even thrown out his arms to catch himself. Just landed face-first in the dirt.

When the brunette had finally caught her breath, tears leaking out of her eyes and ruining her warpaint, she jumped up with a triumphant “ha!” Running over to Etienne, she hopped up and down joyfully and pointed. “Look! I am a mage! Did you see? My wards worked!” She crowed like a wild creature but then did offer the mage a hand up. “Good use of your head there, Etienne. It really softened the fall.”

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Delyth watched as Etienne used Meirin’s proffered hand to try to pull her off her feet, only for the clan girl to laugh harder when he failed. “That was at least half your fault,” he growled at her, smiling despite the embarrassment that tinted his cheeks. “The tripwire was your idea after all.”

It was nice that they got along so well—pleasant change from the constant bickering between Tristan and Etienne before. Besides, it was kind of a relief to have them focused on each other. Companionship had never before felt like such a burden.

“I take full credit. Had you only been Maoz, we’d be all set now.” She dusted off his front vigorously and then slapped him on the back for good measure.

“Ready to spar?”

Etienne groaned dramatically. “Haven’t I fallen on my face enough this morning?”

Still, he went and fetched his staff, moving far enough away from the tents to keep from disturbing them, and when Meirin joined him, he launched himself at her, spinning the staff in one of the moves Delyth made him practice evening after evening.

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Delyth led the way into the grasslands later that morning, her neck crawling as she stepped out from beneath the trees. The warrior was not afraid of open places—she loved the freedom of a wide-open sky— but there was something strange about being on the ground and yet completely bare of cover. Anyone might see them and attack.

All through the morning, Delyth was on edge, adjusting the lay of her sword or glancing over her shoulder while the other two chattered. Something just felt…

Off. Like an impending storm or the moments before a lightning strike.

A few hours in, she even opened a cut on her thumb to retrace the rune of the tracking spell, checking for the second time that day that Enyo was well south of them, unlikely to attack. The distance between them had narrowed some, but not enough to put them in danger.

Delyth set her jaw. Whatever was making her so uneasy would not come in the form of the Gods.

No, it would come dressed in rags and rusted weapons.

Sometime after midday, several figures appeared in the distance, walking in the opposite direction as Delyth and her companions. The nearer they drew, the tenser she became.

When the strangers were close enough to size up, she understood why. These were not bandits like those she and Alphonse and the others had faced in the mountains, poor farmers desperate for food. These were hardened men and women who made their living off others’ misfortune, be it as mercenaries for warring clans or raiders stealing from travelers and merchants alike. They made no pretense of going past, instead moving to block the road. Others were likely circling around behind them.

Consummate professionals, Delyth supposed. But they would die just as easily.

The warrior pulled her sword from its sheath even as one of the raiders called out, her blood singing so that she could hardly make out his words. “Let’s take this nice and easy,” he was saying. “Put down your bags and your weapons if you would like to live.”

Delyth ignored him, stepping forward and raising her sword. She needed to live to see her task through. But as for him, he would not leave the dirt he stood on.

“Wait!” Etienne’s voice cut through the roar in Delyth’s ears, and she shook her head as though trying to rid herself of some buzzing insect. She had been craving a battle for weeks now. She would not let his cowardice stand in the way.

No. She would lose herself in the tang of blood and sword sparks, and for a time, she would not feel. These men were monsters. They deserved nothing less.

“Delyth!” Etienne’s hand was on her arm now. “Not everything has to end in bloodshed.”

The man leading the bandits chuckled, and Delyth shook Etienne off her arm, taking another step forward. “Listen to the boy, woman. Put down your sword, and we won’t fuck you with it when we’re done.”

Etienne was relentless, though. “You’re not protecting anyone, Delyth,” he said. “Would you want Allee to see you now?” Finally, she looked at him, teetering on the edge of abandon. “There’s got to be another way. Meirin, tell them you’re with the Mynydd Gwyllt. I doubt they want that kind of trouble.”

Meirin’s eyes widened and then became thoughtful as she looked towards the bandits, who were clearly preparing to