AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Myfootcamedownin a puddle and I mumbled a curse. The encampment was littered with them thanks to days of rain, the earth soaked, and the low-lying areas flooded. It was the perfect weather for a battle against Brenna’s forces. Less so for walking about the Skaag camp.
I shook my foot out with a scowl and hurried on, dodging soldiers and carts moving equipment and readying for the upcoming battle. A warm westerly wind tugged at the flags above the command tent, their colors drab against the gray sky.
It’d been almost a month since we’d camped at Slayne’s Pass, and a few early skirmishes had allowed us to push forward, but only a short distance. Another win would give us the northern mouth of the pass and cut Brenna’s forces off from any easy access to the Barrow River. If she lost that, she’d have to rely on Balor’s ships to ferry supplies and soldiers to battle, putting her at a significant disadvantage. Balor might have controlled an armada, but his ships were still made of wood. They’d have to stay far back from any battles or else risk burning in friendly fire.
Taking the pass was the win we needed, and if the weather held, we stood a chance of doing it.
It was starting to look as if we could win this, even outnumbered as we were.
I ducked under the heavy canvas tent door to find my war council already gathered around the planning table, arguing, as usual.
Odan drove his finger into the table, his black wings twitching with irritation. “I’m telling you it’s goingwest.”
“And we’re to hold back our battle plans based on gargoyle superstition?” Morlash snorted and crossed his arms over his broad chest, his black scales gleaming in the low light.
“It’s not superstition. The speaking stones are a respected tool,” Odan insisted and looked to me for support.
Hellion sighed and shook their head. “They’re low country magic, Odan. Hardly reliable.”
If anyone knew magic, it would be Hellion. As a Shadow Weaver, they had more experience with it than most. But the magic Odan spoke of was not used in battles or to defeat foes and break armies. The speaking stones were a soothsaying tool as old as the gargoyles’ first written record, far older than any of us. They were well respected as a divining tool, but only among the gargoyles. Other Nightmares thought gargoyle ways to be primitive and backward. I was only half gargoyle, but I had spent my entire life fighting to be accepted as the Lord of Nightmares. I couldn’t afford to be seen as weak and backward. Not now.
When I didn’t immediately offer my support, Odan frowned and turned away. “I see how it is. Dream Walking and Shadow Weaving are good enough, but consulting the stones is a bridge too far?”
Nisang sighed and dropped his silver eyes to the table between them. “I am sure Hellion didn’t mean it like that. The stones are only predictors, Odan. Not undeniable truth.”
Odan again turned to me, his expression pleading. “Tell them, Cian. Gargoyles won’t fly if the stones say not to.”
There was an unspoken demand in his words.Tell them you’re one of us. Choose a side.
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t a gargoyle, nor was I a Nightmare tracing my ancestry back to a single Terror. I was both and neither, a mongrel with one foot firmly in each world.
“You can hide in camp if you want, but I’m not a fucking gargoyle!” Morlash snorted and spat on the floor.
“Where did you hear all of this?” I stopped in front of the table before things could come to blows between Morlash and Odan.
“I just came from the back of camp,” Odan said. “There’s an old witch set up there. Tells fortunes for a copper. She’s a gargoyle from one of the eastern clans, I think. Anyway, she did the stones, just like always. And guess what came up? The black stone, Cian. You know what that means.” He closed the distance between us, standing on his toes to get in my face. “When the stone is black, you turnback. It’s a bad omen, Cian. The worst. If we push this fight now, we lose.”
“And if we wait, we’ll be wasting a golden opportunity,” Morlash countered. “Every day we give them to regroup is another day Balor gets to ship reinforcements and supplies. Another day they get stronger. Another chance we fight a dragon instead of some ragtag djinn and salamanders!” Morlash turned to me. “Even if the witch is right and the rainstorm we’re expecting turns west, it’s been raining for days! The pass is damp, and the side paths flooded. Their fire will have limited functionality. That’s our one advantage against the fire creatures. We must strike now, Cian!”
“LordCian,” I corrected with a glare. It was one thing for Odan to address me by name, and something else entirely to allow Morlash to do so.
Morlash bristled at the correction, sneering. “Delaying the battle based on some gargoyle witch’s rocks is ridiculous.”
“It’s a bad omen,” Odan repeated, shaking his head.
Nisang tilted his head, his forehead wrinkled with worry. “If we delay this battle, the troops will want an explanation.”
I would have to stand in front of my army and tell them we were delaying the push we had been preparing for because of a gargoyle prophecy, dismissing all Morlash’s careful planning and the evidence right before our eyes. It would make their faith in me waver, and morale could crash. If this went poorly, I could be facing a mutiny within the ranks in days. Skaags were difficult to keep in line, and I controlled them only because Morlash was on my side. Risking his loyalty was not something I could afford.
Yet if Odan was right, and the witch’s stones told the truth, then I could be leading my army into certain defeat, and our fledgling rebellion would be over.
I glanced over my shoulder at the closed tent flap and the muddy footprints. “Have you been outside, Odan?”
Odan nodded. “I have.”
“And did you miss the giant puddles all around camp? The piles of mud? The gray sky and the damp fog clinging to everything?”
Odan’s face reddened slightly. “I didn’t miss the black stone that came up, Cian. I might not be the smartest person here, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you don’t fuck with fate. I’m telling you—”
