Malice (The Faithful and the Fallen, #1)

by John Gwynne

Veradis pushed against the ground but the pain in his head exploded with the effort, then he was falling, sinking, and he knew no more. Pain. Rhythmic, throbbing pain. Tentatively Veradis opened his eyes, sharp knives jabbing into his skull, sending waves of nausea pulsing from his stomach.

‘As I said, to train the mind you must train the body. Right now this may seem pointless to you, but

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Cywen followed her mam, and for the briefest of moments saw Alona’s gaze lock with Gwenith’s, then they were in the stone corridors again.

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Veradis was silent. He wanted to look away, feeling suddenly awkward, but Nathair’s gaze held him.

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‘Then stand, brother, for that is what you are to me now, and let us seal this oath with our blood.’

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‘The goal. And what is that, in the end?’ ‘Victory,’ Nathair whispered. ‘I will use man, giant or beast to attain that goal. For the greater good I will do what is required.’

That shadow was, is, my father’s imagining of the Bright Star. This fabled person that he has spent his life waiting for, preparing for.’

‘STRANGER,’ squawked Craf

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Thannon stood suddenly. ‘Go see your friends. But not too late, mind–you’ll need your strength for the morrow.’ He grinned. ‘Listen to me, I’m starting to sound like your mam.’ He chuckled.

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