The Heartstone Saga by Archibald Bradford (pdf to ebook reader txt) 📗

the deadly weapon was quickly contained in a glowing green cage of force, the fire rebounding back on the hapless man.

Tristan stumbled to his feet, but everywhere he looked men were dying.

“Hey buddy!” An unfamiliar male voice called, causing him to turn; “Here catch!”

The smuggler had good reflexes and snatched the little object before it could hit him, thinking it to be a power cell for his pistol, but the shape was all wrong and as he opened his hand and looked to see what it was he balked.

“Oh shi-”

Before he could do anything the strobe Adrian had just tossed him went off, blinding him and searing his hand.

The widower had finally found a use for it.

Unfortunately before the Aegis mechanist could be too smug about it, one of the Trogs tackled him to the ground, briefly mistaking him for one of the bad guys.

After that the blinded Tristan was able to stumble away, though he quickly tripped over the canvas of a lean-to and ended up on his hands and knees in the muck, listening as the sounds of battle tapered off all around him.

His vision still greatly hampered, he crawled amongst the dead as he strove to escape the fate that was befalling his men.

Once he thought he was clear of the fighting he stood; blurry trees nearby promised safety, if he could just reach them…

But then a dreaded voice sounded to one side of him.

“We meet again, Tristan Grove.”

He turned at Alcaia’s words, recognizing her voice immediately, even if all he saw of her was shape and colour.

After all, one of the last times she’d spoken to him was when she and her sisters bathed him and his crew in their village, thinking them to be Aegis personnel and treating them as such.

Alcaia and her bond-mate had bathed him personally; it remained one of his favorite memories from his time as their honoured guests.

He suspected that might be one of the reasons she was upset with him.

“Uh… hey?”

As last words go, he could have done better.

Before his mind could properly register the danger and react to it, his grip slackened and his useless pistol fell to the ground when Alcaia drove her spear through his chest.

But some time ago Olena of the Seven Crooked Sticks and Three Lost Stones had cursed his death, and those of his cohorts, to be as unpleasant as possible. So the Amazon leader, who had never missed a heart-thrust in her life, stumbled on a hidden stick at the last second, her spear going slightly off target and puncturing his lung instead.

Gripping the bloody haft of her weapon with his uninjured hand, his eyes went wide and he gasped for air that would not come.

Frowning at her seeming carelessness, Alcaia jerked her spear back and free of his chest, the broad-bladed tip slicing deep into his grasping hand to add insult to mortal injury.

She stepped forwards to finish him, but a cry of pain from one of her sisters drew her attention and once she returned to the field she forgot about him entirely.

It would take ten minutes for Tristan to drown in his own blood, gurgling and wheezing in white hot agony the entire time.

Shortly afterwards the last of the shooting finished and Adrian stood up off of the ground with a groan, the lizard girl had moved on when she realized her mistake, but he blanched almost immediately when he took in the sight of her and her victorious sisters.

Blood was dripping from their chins as they ate the genitals of their defeated foes.

With ruthless efficiency the Trogs moved from one to the next, even those who were still alive, especially those who were still alive, and with one jerk of their sharp claws they would ruin them.

Their screams were agonizing to listen to.

“It is their way, Aegis.” An older Amazon helping one of her wounded sisters to the ground said from nearby; “These men killed their kin. Worse, they did so with cursed lost-tech rather than their own strength. So they will be unmanned and left to bleed out. It is barbaric, but after all of those they took from us, I have no sympathy.”

The memory of Cheri’s smiling face was enough for Adrian to agree with her, however reluctantly. Shaking aside the grisly nature of the Trogs’ revenge he moved to help the Amazon tend to her sister.

Dreary and exhausting work followed the battle; the wounded had to be cared for, the dead seen to, the remaining weaponry had to be collected and the fires Adrian’s sabotage had caused needed to be put out.

It was some hours later before the exhausted man sat on a log with a bowl of food untouched in his lap.

Around him, Amazon and Troglodyte alike were celebrating their victory; some with boisterous laughter, others with unchecked emotion.

“Wishing that you were one of the lucky ones in the dirt?” Olena remarked as she took a seat beside him.

Reminded of their earlier argument, if it could even be called that, he let out a huff.

“I don’t want to die Olena. But… maybe I don’t really know how to live anymore either. It’s easier to just keep moving forwards, to focus on something more important than me. For months now that was stopping the people that killed everyone I care about. Earlier, it was destroying that cache of weapons.”

She heard him out, and then was silent for a while, twisting a needle between her fingers as if she were contemplating using it.

Eventually she spoke into the night.

“And so what will you do now I wonder.”

The way she phrased it didn’t seem like a question, more like she wasn’t talking to him at all.

Like he really was already one of the dead.

He sighed as he