Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen, #4)

by John Gwynne

“Meet Storm,” Brina said, with something like deep affection in her voice, as she turned to see the shocked faces of Veradis and his companions. Veradis blinked, finally breathing. “Storm. Corban’s wolven?” “I wouldn’t say she’s his, exactly,” Brina said. “More that they belong to each other.” “Pack,” Tahir said. “They are pack.”

“Life is loss,” the giant said. “Aye, that it is,” Corban said. “But I’d wager some of us have lost more than others.” “In the end, it’s all the same,” Varan said. “We all face death alone.” Corban nodded. “To my thinking, though, it’s what happens before death that’s important. All of us die. How many really live?”

Just before sleep took her she realized they’d not set a guard. Then she heard Storm shift, get up and pad over to them, curling down behind Corban, the smell of her fur wafting over them. Don’t need to set a guard tonight. Storm’s back, and she’s pack.

“Craf, I’m coming to realize that you are a fine bird indeed,” Camlin said, grinning. “Camlin save Craf from the bad man,” the crow muttered. “Rafe,” Camlin told Edana. “He tried to twist Craf’s neck.” “Bastard,” muttered Craf. “Rafe?” Edana said. “He just keeps coming back.” Like a curse.

I’ve done bad things, sure enough, or been party to them. But things are different now. I’m different now. Got a cause to fight for. Friends. People I believe in. Can’t change the past, but I can be a better man now.

“What’s this, then?” Meg said, pulling a length of silver and black stone from a pocket inside her cloak. “Craf catch it,” the bird squawked. “Craf clever.” “Damn it but you are, Craf my lad,” Camlin said.

“This day,” he cried, shouting now, “we will live or die, but whatever the outcome, this will still be the day we avenge ourselves for those we’ve lost, the day we right the wrongs done to us, or die in the trying. It will be a dark day, a bloody day, a proud day, for this is the day of our wrath.”

“Rhin, you’re Queen of Domhain NO MORE,” he cried. “So you can KISS MY ARSE.” He dropped his breeches and bared his backside to Drassil’s wall, waved it around a little, whooping and laughing, more guffaws rippling through both warbands. Even Rafe chuckled.

CONALL!!! YES!!!

Camlin was walking with one arm curled up to his waist, and upon it a big black crow was perched, leaning into the fur of his cloak. “Craf cold,” the crow muttered and, without thinking, Camlin tucked his cloak over the bird’s splinted wing. What am I doing! “How did I even get roped into this?” he muttered to himself. “Taking a crow for a walk.” “Camlin kind,” Craf cawed. He shook his head. I’m a fool, nursemaiding a crow. Two days I’ve been doing this. If the lads from the Darkwood saw me now. He realized he was stroking Craf’s head as he thought that.