Page 44 of A Thousand Burning Ravens

Myla feels a firm shake of her shoulders, and a voice in the distance calls for her. “Myla! Wake up.”

She lunges to her feet, her hands at once moving to her stomach. Vesperian is nowhere in sight, and her stomach is not flayed; there is no blood.

Before her, Bryar stands, gripping her by the shoulders with a furrowed brow. “The . . . he . . . Vesperian was just here,” she chokes, grasping her neck where she could still feel the ghost of his fingers, the burning pain, gone now. “I—he made me kill . . .” Her voice breaks as she grows red with embarrassment. The background coming into focus, a dozen tired monks stand near inspecting the scene, awoken by her night terror.

“It was not real.” Bryar wipes sweaty locks of hair from her brow, his fingers press reassuringly into her shoulders before taking note of the small audience. “There is nothing amiss,” he says a little louder, urging the tired men to return to their beds.

Her trembling slowly subsides, and Myla takes in the man before her, earnestly looking her over for any signs that she may be hurt. Which Myla finds ridiculous as she conducts a more thorough inspection of him. His hair a tousled mess, lightly coated with dust. Blood is dried across his brow, sprayed as though he cut a throat in close quarters.

Myla gasps, taking note of a bandage wrapped around his shoulder. “What happened to you?”

Rhyland and Callum stand nearby, moving in slow, stiff motions as they shrug out of their armor. Each of them is battered and covered in ash. Rhyland coughs intently.

“What happened out there?” Myla demands.

Bryar reaches over his shoulder with a cringe, trying to loosen his breastplate. Myla intercepts his hand, unlinking the fastenings and listening as he speaks.

“The Raven’s Veil scouts, as you know. Ever since you . . . since he got ahold of you, I have them keeping a closer eye on any territories the Blood Stealer may have a heavier hold on.” He winces as Myla peels the breastplate off him, sticky with blood. Myla’s eyes widen, and she peeks beneath the bandage, her stomach quelling at the sight. “He has wolves under his control, and a month or so back, a few of my men reported a pack traveling toward the Seer’s lair.”

Myla swallows hard, realization dawning. “That is why you did not want me to go?”

He nods, unbuckling his belt so a heavy blade falls from his waist. He grunts in relief as weight sheds. Martin and Ethstan, both now wide awake, appear bearing plates of warmed breads and meats. “We were apprehended on the journey back last night.”

Callum cracks a weak smile. “Bryar blasted the shit out of them. I thought he was going to burn the mountain down.”

Rhyland cackles between swigs of wine, nodding in agreement. “I have never seen a crater form in the earth like that. Now we have survived it . . . I will admit it was impressive.”

“You have never done much sight-seeing beyond the various bedrooms you visit,” Callum adds, rolling his eyes.

“Just because I am an equal opportunist, does not mean I do not have life experiences beyond those,” Rhyland retorts “I just do not tell you everything.”

“You tell me enough.”

With a shake of her head, Myla looks to Bryar for clarification, surprised to see he is not enjoying his friends’ banter in the least. Their exchanges normally liven him up.

“Survived the wolves?” she clarifies.

“No,” Bryar answers gruffly, choking on ash. “Survived the crater.”

“The earth looked like it split in half,” Callum adds. “There was this moment when the rubble on the precipice of it started sliding in—it was an avalanche—”

“Yeah,” Rhyland interjects, doubled over and leaning against his thighs for support. “And we were sliding in!”

Myla’s breath catches in her throat, her eyes bouncing from one man to the next as they tell the tale as though it is something to be proud of and not a near death experience.

“The rocks falling a hundred feet down were red-hot with flames, and I thought I was falling into hell,” Bryar confesses, seeming to conclude the conversation with the riveting statement.

Rhyland and Callum exchange humored glances and Rhyland leans in. “You can not mean to tell me you are going to leave out the best part.”

Bryar wipes an exhausted hand across his face, and he shakes his head, dismissing their enthusiastic retelling. “I do not see any of it as a good story to share.”

“Gods . . .” Ryland rolls his eyes and turns back to Myla. “It was spectacular.”

“What was?” Myla probes, feeling annoyed by the banter leaving her piecing the entire story together with the small tidbits they offer.

“He was,” Callum added flatly, nodding toward his captain with reverence. “I have never seen anything like it in my life.” He continues, setting an empty tumbler on the table, “There were no less than fifty of these wolves, and they were not regular wolves.” At this, all three men nodded in agreement, Rhyland emphasizing they were more monster than wolf.

Callum nods in agreement. “They were possessed. They were massive. Swords were pointless. So, we started running, but—”