Embers of an Age (Blood War Trilogy)

My sincerest thanks to Ryan Lawler for
having to suffer my early drafts and for helping me make sense of my convoluted visions.

The dead in shattered heaps about his feet, Uthul
knew only the
battle for life
.

He waded through the Grol corpses
, their pooled blood tacky beneath his
boots
, and
willed his
scavenged
sword
to work
.
He knew no mercy for the beasts
inadvertently
born of Ree’s
holy
flesh
. He could afford none.

He’d caught them unaware as
Arrin and the Pathran, Kirah,
cleaved through their clustered ranks, but the Grol had been quick to recover. Where at first he’d sent a dozen of the beasts to earth for every glancing strike he’d taken, he now traded them
nearly
blow for blow
as they clamored around him
.
They were wearing him down.

Uthul had t
argeted the empowered Grol
, doing as much to ruin their ranks
first
, risking precious seconds and the
return of the
plague to collect their O’hra
. He had mostly succeeded. Those that remained wounded him worst. The taint of their
magic
set his stomach to churning. Ree’s essence enflamed his blood and set fire to his skin. Being so close to it was a danger, not only to himself, but to those of his people who still remained. He was being poisoned by the
overload of
pure, magical essence
, and
it would not be long before
the plague
returned
. It would soon kill him.
He prayed to Ree it would end there.

Uthul
darted before the lines, using the Grols’ numbers against them. The
beasts
stumbled into each other and blocked their own attacks, but
he
could only manage to thwart so many.
Uthul’s
sword flickered like a serpent’s tongue
. Its deadly bite weaved
its way through the Grol
before him
only to find another of the
creatures
clambering to take
its place.
Their
warm
blood crusted his face and arms, and he could
smell
its bitterness with every breath. It matched his mood.

He hoped Zalee had stolen away with the O’hra-bearers and fled the city, but worry nagged at him. The uncertainty of
his daughter’s
whereabout
s
weighed
heavy upon his thoughts. His concern slowed him even more than his wounds
, but h
e fought on, paving the streets with Grol bodies. Sweat oozed thick from his pores
,
and he could feel the sickness in it. The O’hra clattered in the bag at his belt
,
and for an instant
,
he contemplated donning
them
so he might regain his strength, if only for one last glorious push before the plague overwhelmed him.
Surrounded as he was
by magic
,
he believed
the sickness would consume him long before the battle was over.
A stray thought sent his free hand reaching for the bag.
The crack of thunder drew his focus from such suicidal
action
.

In response to the sound
, there was a sudden lull.
The wall of Grol
hesitated, their gazes shooting to the sky
at
his back
. Uthul cleaved another of the beasts as it stood motionless, and then dared a furtive glance over his shoulder
as the bestial ranks broke
. Gray stone obscured the
light
.

Despite its already frantic pace, Uthul’s heart sputtered as one of the city’s great spires careened towards him. Clouds of dust and
crumbling
masonry bits pelted
him
as he stood in the path of the tumbling spire. In its demise he saw salvation.

Rather than
follow the fleeing Grol, Uthul darted directly beneath the falling ruin. Massive stones struck the ground
all around
and sent
vibrations through his body
, but
he pushed on into the whirling fog of debris. At the last moment, he darted from the path of the spire. He ran through the alleys of the nearby homes
, which
stood in the shadows of their surroundings walls,
and
had been spared the Grol’s mystical assault.
Uthul hoped they would last just a few moments longer.

The spire crashed into the closest of the
homes
, the world
washed away
by the roar of the
collision. The ground danced beneath Uthul’s feet and he stumbled.
Shadows roiled
on the wind as the spire came down. Uthul gathered what was left of his strength and dove through the thickening hail of wreckage.
A flicker of gray light loomed ahead, sanctuary in the chaos.
Then d
arkness flooded over him.

His world went black.

The columns of
acrid
smoke
, which
rose from the ruin of Lathah
,
had
long
faded into the background. The land of Arrin’s birth had fallen, nothing left save for the cluster of survivors who surrounded him and
the
bitter
memories
he could not shake
.
Somewhere in the ruins
was the child he had never met; the child he’d failed.
He would never forgive himself.

At the onset of their journey to Pathrale, Arrin had known a fury so dark as to eclipse the sun, but that anger had been tempered by the slow crawl of the
group’s
advance. Unable to use his O’hra to hurry the trip, each step was as though he strode through a mire. He trudged ahead of the group,
following the line of the Fortress Mountains
, which
hugged the western border of Lathah
,
his sullenness having
even
chased Kirah from his side
, for a time
. Now, there were only his thoughts to keep him company. They were sour c
ompanions
,
indeed.

Malya
, the woman he loved,
walked a ways behind him
. Her family, which Arrin had only learned of on his return to Lathah, clustered around her. He
had not met her gaze once since their
flight
began
.
He couldn’t bear to. Her husband, Falen, guided their sons, Argos and Kylle, as she hovered at their backs. She had been lost to Arrin nearly the whole of his exile, and yet he hadn’t known. For all the good will he wished he could muster for her happiness, Arrin knew only
a
bleak
emptiness that Malya once filled. He had lived so long for only her and their child he no longer had any understanding of what his life was
meant to be
.
His purpose was gone
,
and he had been set adrift
.
The adrenaline of war
having
faded like the fallen Lathah, his path slipped into uncertainty.

He glanced at the Sha’ree woman
, Zalee,
who kept her distance from the group
.
Her pink eyes stared straight
ahead, likely as frustrated by the group’s
slow progress as he was.
It had been her father, Uthul, who had saved Arrin and Kirah from the foolish battle with the Grol. He had
traded
his own life for theirs, his final wish that Arrin and the other relic-wielders journey to the Sha’ree homeland of Ah Uto Ree and learn how best to use the O‘hra
.
Now she was leashed to the travelers and bound to their fate with no
time
to mourn her loss.

Though she said nothing
, her lipless mouth was pulled down into the semblance of a frown.
She could not hide her sorrow. After her father’s sacrifice,
Arrin had promised he would
aid her in ridding Ahreele of the Grol
. H
e
was glad
do so. The beasts had ripped the veil from his life, such as it was. Alone in the wilderness, he had found a relative peace
;
ignorance
if never
anything approaching
happiness. Their attack on Fhen had drawn him home, back to a world he no longer belonged but had yet to acknowledge. They had stolen his child from his world, however imaginary or delusional that world may have been.
For that alone, Arrin would chase the Grol to the ends of Ahreele and see every one of their creed impaled upon his blade.

The Pathran warriors who traveled alongside appeared to share his sentiment. They strode about the edge of the group, their weapons
at the ready
, fierce scowls etched
across their furred faces.
They had seen what the beasts had done to Lathah and knew their homeland would be next in the path of the Grol rampage.
Waeri’s whiskers twitched at his cheeks as he surveyed the surrounding land.
The son of the great Pathran leader, Warlord Quaii, he seemed consumed by his anger at what might come to pass.
His pointed ears were pinned tight against his skull, lending his visage a sleekness that enhanced the fearsome snarl at his lips.

His sister, Kirah, caught
Arrin’s
eye as he looked upon her. It was all the encouragement she needed to rejoin him.

“We are nearly there,” she told him, her voice quiet. Her purple gaze lingered as she set her warm hand upon his arm.

Arrin nodded and sighed, finding it hard to wallow in his bleakness with her so close. He took in the
beauty of her
speckled features
and forced a tiny smile, tearing his gaze away. “
I feared we might not make it,” he admitted.

“I had no such fear.” She squeezed his arm. “You promised my father you would bring us home.”