Dead Blood

Concordia, Seven Hundred Years Before

Thaelen woke when Harithen rose from the bed leaving behind a warm spot where he had been, and the ghost of the scent that Harithen wore in his hair. Thaelen opened his eyes and squinted at the window. Through the part in the curtains, dawn was a grey light. His head ached and his mouth was dry and sour, his stomach uneasy within him. He felt as if he had not slept at all and the bed was rumpled, the sheets sticking against his skin with sour sweat.

They had been up late the night before, first with Sigrid, Meguitte and Haethnir, and then alone - drinking wine and going over plans for the battle to take the grass plains and break through the wall, that was all, he thought.

Harithen had been able to share insight into the protections built into the wall, the hidden machicolations, the number of men manning the portcullis, and the city beyond it. As he had done centuries before, Thaelen intended to employ Meguitte’s fire to burn out the enemy and sc