Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen, #4)

by John Gwynne

A barracks for the warriors of this warband. With a snarl he ran at them. He hit a knot of men before they had any time to react, his knives tracing a red ruin across their bodies. In moments he was through them and hurling himself at a new wall of men. Weapons thrust at him, but the battle-rage was upon him, the world seeming to slow and he twisted and flowed around every blow aimed at him, his knives licking out to slice throats, puncture groins, cut hamstrings. Dimly he heard the clash of arms behind him, knew his men were following. Faces appeared before him, grim, fearful, shocked; all fell to his twin blades.

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.

“Well, I hope not, but who knows what the future holds? Regardless, I will always want you by my side, or close enough to call, at least. Your talents are many. You are a gem, Camlin.” She smiled at him. “Just in need of a little polishing, that is all. And above and beyond all that, you are my friend, whom I trust, and that is rarer than gold.” Never in all my long life has anyone said such a thing to me. Just goes to show—sometimes it takes someone else to bring out the best in a man.