The Nightborn by Isabel Cooper (howl and other poems TXT) 📗

“I don’t think the city’s armies will be ready to march in less than a month.”

They won’t. Don’t ask for more than one miracle in a season.

“Lucky for me, I have one decent horse left, and I won’t need to wait for the army.” Zelen didn’t stop walking. He felt as though he would’ve lost his balance if he had. He focused on Branwyn’s profile, and took the last mental step forward. “If you’d like me to come join you, that is. Wherever you end up.”

Now Branwyn stopped walking. She turned, and the hood of her cloak fell back, letting snowflakes fall on her gold hair. “Zelen—”

“If you don’t, I understand.”

He’d try, at any rate.

“No. Yes.” She flushed. “I would like that. Very much. But you’re aware of what I am, what I do, the risks I take… Are you certain?”

Zelen put both arms around her and drew her off to the side, giving people room to pass. Some were pausing to observe the scene, he was sure, but he didn’t give a damn. “Nobody’s safe these days, and it wouldn’t matter if they were,” he said, looking down into the strong, noble face he’d come to love. “I still can’t think of anyone whose company I’d rather die in, and if we both end up living, I’d rather do that with you too.”

“I—” Branwyn’s mouth was open for a minute, but no more words emerged. She didn’t need them. Her eyes told Zelen all he needed to know, and then she confirmed it by kissing him.

They stood like that for a long time, not caring who saw: two tall figures clinging together in the midst of the first winter snow.

Epilogue

“It’s Katrine now, isn’t it? Bonded to the soulsword Coran? I’m Rolf… I don’t know if you remember me.”

“From Silane,” Katrine said with an attempt to hide her shock. Rolf had been half her age in Silane, barely starting to learn the sword when she’d been reforged. In a properly made world, he wouldn’t have been remotely old enough to be a full Sentinel.

Twelve years since then would make him nineteen, said Coran. One does get used to time eventually.

“Yes!” Beaming, he showed small silver fangs that proved his status, along with the citrine-adorned rapier at his waist. Rolf also had big puppy-like eyes and came up a little higher than Katrine’s shoulder, neither of which helped mitigate the impression of youth. “You were very helpful about teaching me to ride. I was quite grateful on the way here, in fact.”

“Was it a long trip?”

That was a polite question. Getting north of Oakford, to the last set of fortifications that had been built in the mortal world’s few months of respite, was always a long trip. Still Katrine asked, just as she broke off a piece of the meat roll she’d been eating and offered it. Small politenesses had value, especially at the end of the world.

Rolf nodded and accepted the food, eating with the blinding speed of the young. “I’ve come from the chapter house in Affiran,” he said, producing a sealed message from his belt, “but my news comes from beyond that—from Heliodar. They said I should take it to you or Vivian, though I wouldn’t know her on sight.”

“There’s no time like the present for introductions,” said Katrine, and got to her feet.

A short trip took them among the tents: the Sentinels, knights, and Blades all mingled, with the Mourners, Sitha’s priests, and the wounded in the protected center of the camp. Katrine pointed out what landmarks they had, while Rolf goggled.

The camp was a bustling place at midday. Guards were changing shifts while warriors practiced or built up the earthworks with the help of Sitha’s priests. The smells of sweat and horses blended with the scent of herbs as the Mourners prepared remedies and the wizards got other concoctions ready for their hour of need. A few talked over the snow: the inch or so on the ground, the flakes that were falling. It wasn’t unusual, as late fall turned to early winter, but everyone was apt to see omens.

Vivian’s tent was larger than most, a wood-ribbed circular structure made for meetings in foul weather as well as simple shelter. Like those of the other commanders, it was marked: the Sentinel sigil, a sun with an open eye inside, flew on a red pennant outside.

The woman herself emerged while Katrine and Rolf approached.

“Katrine,” she said, spotting her second, then noticed the young man. “Sentinel. Have reinforcements arrived?”

“A few, Commander,” said Rolf. He bowed quickly, then offered his letter. He was too young to recognize the air of purpose about Vivian, or too eager to wait for her to read the message. “And more to come soon. Heliodar’s come in on our side!”

“Good,” said Vivian, but her dark-skinned face was a mask. She took the folded paper and broke the seal with a flick of one thumb. “We’ll need them.”

“The wards?” Katrine asked.

“Crossed just now. In considerable force. I’m off to talk with the other commanders.”

“I’ll get our forces ready.”

“Thank you,” said Vivian. She focused on Rolf for the first time. “Welcome to the front lines. I’m afraid we won’t be able to send you back soon.”

Rolf was young, but not stupid. “How long do we have until they arrive?” he asked, touching the hilt of his sword for reassurance.

“Not nearly long enough.”

Don’t miss the epic conclusion of the Stormbringer series

Available July 2021 from Sourcebooks Casablanca!

Part I

The attacks resumed today. This first was only a test of our guard: a score of twistedmen and five of the trance-birds. We drove them off handily enough—the spell that Hanyi and your Gerant came up with at Oakford shields our minds well, and our mages have been diligent about applying the sigils. Injuries were light, comparatively, casualties nil, and the new fortifications hold well.

Still, the air here has changed. None, not the Order nor the