Southlands
Page 37
The very first body they reached was still alive.
A man with half his face blown off.
His chestplate rose and fell with hitching breaths. His massive shield lay still attached to his left arm, dented and dinged, the edges chipped from thousands of projectiles that had skimmed by him.
But one had found him. And one was all you needed.
His blue sagum identified him as a legionnaire of The Light.
The dying legionnaire reached a hand towards them. He tried to speak, but couldn’t.
Perry first eyed the man’s right hand to see if he was still armed. Both sides left the bodies, but they were careful to retrieve the weapons. Funny how they did that.
Perry saw no weapons. He turned his head to project his voice back over his shoulder, but he kept his eye on the dying soldier in front of him.
“Stuber!”
The soldier knew what was next. Whatever he wanted, he forgot about it, and his outstretched arm fell to his side. He sat there with his chestplate heaving, his one good eye still looking straight at Perry.
Perry heard the sound of retching behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Teran, doubled over with a thick rope of yellowy stomach juices issuing from her mouth and nose.
He turned back to the dying legionnaire.
The man’s one remaining eye was a pleasant hazel color. The eye was nice and round. Thick lashes. He might’ve been a popular man with the ladies, Perry thought, though with half his face missing, it was difficult to tell if he was handsome. Maybe he just had nice eyes.
Stuber came over. Perry gestured to the dying soldier.
Stuber knelt before the man, as he would so many times that day. He put his hand on the soldier’s forehead and he said the words that Perry didn’t even need to hear, he knew them so well by now.
“In the eyes of the gods, it matters not the color of your banner, but the courage of your heart. Under the watchful gaze of Nur, the Eighth Son, all warriors are brothers. As your brother, I bear witness to Halan, the Eldest Son, that you have fought your fight. Be at peace. Accept this mercy, and go to The After.”
The dying man closed his eyes as Stuber put the large, silver pistol against his head and gave him mercy.
And, as he always did, Perry watched, and thought, That could have been me.
And that made him think of the Tall Man.
END OF PREVIEW
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
D.J. Molles is the New York Times bestselling author of The Remaining series. He is also the author of Wolves, a 2016 winner in the Horror category for the Foreword INDIES Book Awards. His other works include the Grower's War series, and the Audible original, Johnny. When he's not writing, he's taking care of his property in North Carolina, and training to be at least half as hard to kill as Lee Harden. He also enjoys playing his guitar, his violin, drawing, painting, and lots of other artsy fartsy stuff
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