28 Going Home

Going Home

The next night the waning moon rode high – to the dragar it was as bright as mid-day. It had not risen until late in the evening, presaging the sunrise by only a few hours. The air was clear with only spectral bits of ground mist drifting along the river gorge.

Thalia and Tod were feeling satisfied, relieved and mischievous after having erased the rogues. Time for a little amusement to wash away the deaths.

They’d hoped not to lose any of their own but it was inevitable that Nemeta would die. She was human, she had been incredibly old, yet she still had the strength to die a hero. Tonight they had buried her in a grave dedicated to those who served the Goddess. She would live in memory, his and Thalia’s too. Continue reading

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16 Mirror, Mirror

Even though the granny kept asking questions Honey stood and stretched her back while keeping an eye on the soldier. Sweet Mother, thank you; I didn’t think this was possible. She remembered telling Tod: “you’d make a great baby-daddy if you were still human.” There he stood, the same gray eyes, a little older, certainly darker, with a wonderful spark of humor quirking the corner of his mouth.

Horse was being pursued across the marketplace by a relentless street urchin.

“Citizen, sir, you won’t be sorry. My sister is very fine.” puff, puff “A real blond and very young.”

Eldjarn, the Horse rounded on the boy and firmly told him to get lost. “I’m not interested in your sister, your mother or your aunt!”

“Citizen, citizen! My brother is skilled in the lost arts of the east. He is the delight of many! Only three As.”

Horse growled down at him: “I don’t want your public toilet of a brother either! I’ve got business to tend to, mihi molestus ne sis!1” and tossed a clipped coin in the kid’s direction. Continue reading

15 The Last Sunset

The Last Sunset

200 CE

Tod wasn’t dreaming, not really; it was more as though he were mired in a rising reverie. He wondered if it were part of his healing, he seemed to drift off into downtime pretty often. Continue reading

14 Might Have Beens

Might Have Beens: or Living in the Subjunctive.

200 CE

If it hadn’t been for that spoilt twat ‘Tura, he would have lived out his days as a priest and leader for his clan. He and Artos (even after two centuries he remembered him) had talked long into the night about how they would do things when they were grown. There was no doubt in their minds that when the time came, they would be, if not heroes, just leaders and the clan would prosper. Continue reading

13 In the Shadows

In the Shadows

58 BCE

‘Tura hadn’t known much about being a vampire, her maker, Yaz, had been killed before he said anything useful. Not that he had a mind to tell her much since he was a grimly silent, arrogant, vicious predator with no interest in ‘Tura beyond sex and using her as bait. ‘Tura was no jewel either, quite the vixen, with multitudinous and voracious appetites. Never did bother to clean up after herself, which would be the end of her. Ha! Continue reading