Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga Regina Watts (e book reader online .TXT) 📖

hint of aging for as long as the individual sleeps in the casket. When the user returns to beds, their aging picks up where it left off. One man has had it for years now—years and years, for at least as many as I slumbered before you woke me up.”

She looked only at me. Gundrygia still held the lantern in her hands, its light reflecting off the countless gems and chains and bangles and belts of copper and silver and gold with which the gimlets had adorned her. I understood well how it was that she had earned a reputation as some wild faerie queen…but she was not that. I lifted Strife between us knowing that if I could strike her, she would bleed.

The only issue was whether or not I could land the blow. However it would make me feel to have killed a woman, such complex emotion would have all been part of the aftermath. In the name of defending myself and my companions against her magic, and in protecting the people of Soot, and in obeying the will of Weltyr, I would have stricken her down as readily as any truly dangerous opponent—regardless of sex, race, or beauty, or even my own personal desire.

And this fearful desire stung me with memories of our embrace while she stood before us, the lantern glowing in her hands.

“Tell me what you’ve done with the people of Soot—then leave, and don’t force me to strike you down before your children.”

Her smile fell; the wildness of her eyes returned, madness lining her face with the urgency of her petition. “My children are why I’ve done this,” she insisted, the gimlets about her yelping and nodding. While a few darted up to kiss her feet and cling to the hem that had once again fallen down around her ankles, Gundrygia went on. “My creations would not be so foul toward the races of Weltyr if they were accepted. My good gimlets! How sweet they are. Would Yelp hurt you, do you suppose, Paladin?”

“If I made a move to cut you down right where you stand, these servants of yours would certainly throw themselves to the task of defending you.”

“Yes, of course. And any human would defend his own home from an attacker. Come now, what a silly thing to say! Look at him.”

She gestured to the worried gimlet who led us here—who now looked between us and Gundrygia while wringing his little paws. Clearly the creatures were no fans of conflict. Gundrygia went on sternly, “They were cast out of this blasted village, and every other place where men or elves or any other form of mankind dwell, for hundreds of thousands of years! For countless generations they were rejected rather than accepted into so-called civilized societies…and all because they cannot speak the languages of mankinds. Because they simply look too much the part of animals. But look, Paladin! Look!”

She turned the lantern’s light up as bright as it could go. The gimlets cooed rather than recoiled.

“Do they shy from the Light of Hamsunt? Are they mere animals? Do they deserve to live hidden in the hills, waiting me to lead them out of their hellish existence? Men will not let them build cities or towns. There are even those in Soot who would kill a gimlet on sight and think nothing more of it than ridding their cellars of a rodent.”

Her hard affect softened then. She regarded me tenderly. “But you think of it, Burningsoul…you think of much.”

“I think the problems that the gimlets face is no call for doing what’s been done here. What have you done with the people of Soot?”

“Nothing they haven’t done to themselves.”

Gritting my teeth, I shouted, “Speak, you harpy! Give me the lantern and release the town, or face the wrath of Weltyr!”

Tipping her head with a wicked laugh, Gundrygia slithered back into the crowd of gimlets that quickly formed around her. “You barely understand the wrath of Weltyr, Burningsoul…you barely understand yourself.”

Behind her, the pile of furniture and gold twitched as though alive.

I’d heard tales of golems—the name most often given to semi-autonomous products of powerful magi with ancient means and cryptic purposes—but I had never seen one for myself. The towering, broad-shouldered form that rose up from the collection of valuables was something it would have taken most magical artisans weeks, maybe months to create. For Gundrygia, it was nothing: a matter of will and of direction of heart. Soon, non-living things were made alive. It was a perverse mockery of Weltyr’s gift, this artificial life bestowed to a pile of objects. It took a thundering step forward while the gimlets went skittering away amid a series of high barks.

Gundrygia made a low-throated snarl of her own. Those gimlets still around us sprang into action at once. While Yelp cried out in protest, Valeria and Branwen did so in panic. My companions were apprehended while the friendly gimlet looked frantically up at my face, then darted to Gundrygia. He pushed through the crowd of gimlets around her retreating form and tugged on her dress when within reach, whimpering and pointing at my friends.

“Oh, now, poor thing!” Kneeling, Gundrygia tucked the lantern in one arm to caress Yelp’s muzzle and pinch his chubby gimlet cheek. “Don’t worry, angel…we only want Rorke, don’t we? The others will be free to go eventually.”

With a laugh, Gundrygia rose again and continued away while swarmed by her attendants. Their absence opened up most of the town square between myself and the raging bonfire. In that gap now towered the golem, a fourteen-foot monstrosity that stared through heirloom eyes of ruby and displayed a grimacing mouth of valuable crockery.

Mentally apologizing to the good people of Soot for destroying their finest belongings, I raised Strife high and charged the monster.

The eerie thing about the golem was that it made no sounds of exertion or pain. I hacked the enchanted broadsword into its thigh and found it did not even seem to