At that, Raz finally witnessed what he’d expected to see. The Priestess blanched, looking at him sharply.
“‘Finish?'” she quoted, as though unsure what he meant. “They’re done, Raz. Beaten. You don’t have to—”
“I’m not going to kill them,” Raz said with a half-amused snort, throwing a leg off of Gale as he dismounted, tossing Ahna over his shoulder once he did. “What sort of man do you think I am?”
Syrah hesitated, then looked sad. “Sorry,” she said after a moment, what little color she had returning to her cheeks. “I-I wasn’t sure. There was a second there, when you were pretending you’d split my bounty with that woman…”
Raz laughed and gave her a lopsided grin. “Who says I was pretending? I asked for fifty-fifty. She didn’t give it to me.”
Syrah scowled. “Not funny.” But she seemed to relax a little.
Raz chuckled again, then turned and started making for the pair of bound sellswords up the road. “It’s a little funny. Now, can you release the spells?” He tapped one of the lashes of solidified fire with a steel-clad finger as he walked, making the magic vibrate. “I’ve been on the end of these things before. They're not comfortable.”
Behind him, he heard Syrah grumble something like “It’s not funny,” but a second later the flames dissolved in a shower of white dust, glistening and vanishing as it tumbled toward the ground. Before him, the mercenaries began to hack and cough, breathing clear for the first time in well over a minute. The woman was the quickest to attempt to get on her feet, pushing herself shakily onto one knee and going for a long knife on her belt as she did.
“Oh no you don’t,” Raz told her, taking the last few steps in a flash. In three quick moves he caught her wrist with his free hand, twisted the knife out of it, and swept her legs from under her once again. The woman landed on her back in the dirt for a second time with a hard thud, gasping as the wind was knocked out of her. A moment later, Raz had stepped away from her, moving toward her companion just as the man managed to push himself unsteadily up onto his hands and knees.
“And you,” Raz snarled, slamming the bottom of his gauntleted fist into the back of the man’s head. “Stay down.”
With a puff of dust and a grunt, the mercenary did exactly that.
By the time Raz turned around again, Syrah had dismounted and moved to stand over the armored woman, who was still struggling to catch her breath as she lay flat on her back in the road.
“What’s your name?” Syrah was asking her in an—in Raz's opinion—unnecessarily kind voice as he stepped back to stand on the other side of the fallen figure.
The woman glared at her. “Fuck off,” she grumbled between groans. “If you’re gonna kill me, then kill me, and be done with it.”
“Killing’s finished for now,” Raz growled at her. “Answer my friend’s question, then you can take what comrades are still breathing and get out of our sight.”
The sellsword continued to glower, but whereas Syrah’s calm query had done little to persuade her, Raz’s less-patient tone seemed to loosen her tongue.
“Alana,” she grumbled through a clenched jaw.
“Alana,” Syrah said with a smile, setting the tip of her staff into the ground and kneeling beside her. “Are you hurt? I can assist you, if you are.”
Alana the mercenary looked at Syrah as though she had three heads. “Back off, Witch. I don’t need none of your damn sorcery.”
Raz growled. “Watch your tongue. I had half-a-mind to cut it from your head already, and that was before you opened your mouth.”
Immediately the woman shut up, eyes widening in fear. Sure he had her attention, Raz set the heavy steel point of Ahna’s bottom end suggestively close to the mercenary’s ear and grinned wickedly at her.
“So, then,” he said, his crest rising once more behind his head and his wings spreading several feet to either side of his body as he spoke. “You don’t look hurt. You can thank the Moon for that. You’ll stay that way, too, if you do as we say and answer our questions. Understood?”
Alana swallowed, but didn’t hesitate as she nodded up at him. On her other side, Syrah looked on in silence.
“Good,” Raz said, not moving the dviassegai’s pointed tip away from the woman’s ear even as she glanced at it nervously. “First question, then: who put out the bounty?”
The answer was prompt, and expected.
“Mountain men,” Alana said quickly, her eyes flicking to his. “Western tribes, as the freeze ended.”
“What tribes?” Syrah pressed her. “Sigûrth?”
Alana shook her head, complexion paling as she looked at the Priestess, like she didn’t want to give the answer she had. “I don’t know. I don’t think Thera knew, either. We were assisting with the rebuilding efforts and security in Metcaf. When winter broke, we heard the Kayle’s army was no more, and how it happened.” She glanced at Raz again. “They released most of the mercenary groups from our contracts just so they wouldn’t have to feed us through the summer. We heard about the bounty on the road.”
Raz frowned at that. “Then anyone could have posted it. Who were you supposed to deliver her to, if you found her?”
Alana looked even more nervous. “Any of the tribes,” she answered in a shaking voice. “Rumor was any of the Vietalis clans would be willing to pay for the Witch’s head.”
Raz looked up at Syrah, catching her eye and raising a brow.
This complicates things, his look said, and she nodded briefly in understanding and agreement.
“Who knows about the price?” Syrah asked the woman. “How many groups like yours were in Metcaf?”
“Just in Metcaf?” Alana asked with a harsh snort. “A hundred. In Harond, though, there was half that again.”
“And they were all made aware of it?”
Alana shrugged, taking the opportunity to scoot her head an inch or two away from the steel point still buried in the ground beside her. “Enough,” she said eventually, “but that was weeks ago…”
“And by now most of the North would know, if not all of it,” Syrah finished for her, eyes distant. After a second or two of thinking, she looked up. “Shall we let them go?”
For a moment, the mercenary looked relieved. Then her face tensed in fear as Raz answered.
“No. Not yet.”
With a jerk he pulled Ahna’s tip out of the ground, twisting her so that her blades plunged down toward Alana’s neck like a guillotine. The woman screamed and Syrah gasped, but Raz stopped the dviassegai just short of the sellsword’s throat. The blood dripped off Ahna's blades, trickling down to spatter the mercenary's dirty skin, and the woman’s whole body shook from fear as she continued to stare up at Raz.
“You’re going to deliver a message for me, Alana,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, leering down at her. “You’re going to hear what I have to say, and share it with any of your kind you come across. Understood?”
The woman’s nod was an almost-imperceptible twitch as she swallowed, like she was nervous any greater movement would leave her as headless as her former captain.
“Good,” Raz snarled, “then listen carefully. The bounty on the Witch’s head is void. Any who would attempt to claim it can count their lives as forfeit.”
He lifted Ahna away from the mercenary’s throat then, throwing her over his shoulder once again and allowing himself to be outlined against the rising moon at his back, like some winged demon of the night.
“Tell them the Dragon says no one touches Syrah Brahnt.”
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Note From the Author
[aka: The Plight of the Writer]
As a writer, I cannot accurately portray exactly how m
uch your support and enjoyment of this collection means to me, as there are no words grand enough to paint the picture. The Wings of War is a labor of love, a commitment to the creation of a story that will entertain, enthrall, and inspire, as so many other tales have done for me before. Your appreciation and enjoyment of my writing is a massive portion of the rewards of being an author.
It is with this note that I move on to a more personal plea, a cry for assistance from all of you who got to the end of the volume and were even just a little bit sad it didn’t continue on:
Please, please, consider rating and reviewing The Wings of War on one or two major bookselling or book group sites.
Even better, please consider supporting me directly on Patreon, and get early access to chapters and books, art, cool stuff, and much more.
Many people don’t know that there are thousands of books published every day, most of those in the USA alone. Over the course of a year, a quarter of a million authors will vie for a small place in the massive world of print and publishing. We fight to get even the tiniest traction, fight to climb upward one inch at a time towards the bright light of bestsellers, publishing contracts, and busy book signings.
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It has been a pleasure entertaining you, and I vigorously hope you continue to follow The Wings of War series to see what becomes of Raz i’Syul Arro.
Bryce O’Connor
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The Wings of War: Books 1-3: The Wings of War Box Set, Vol. 1 Page 141