Valor (The Faithful and the Fallen, #2)

by John Gwynne

‘Strike first,’ he said, ‘else you might not get a chance to strike at all. That’s a Darkwood education.’

Tahir looked at him. ‘A man with revenge in his heart should dig two graves, my old mam used to say to me.’

Cywen held her breath as Evnis hurtled towards Rhin’s front lines, knew that she was about to watch him die. She grinned fiercely.

They were Gadrai, sword-brothers who had come through the battle of Haldis, had faced giants, fought the Jehar, survived Forn Forest, and together they were death on wings.

Come then, Death, take me across your bridge of swords, but know this: I won’t be coming alone.

And now to Cambren; to more bloodshed in the name of righteousness, to claim my destiny as the most trusted servant of Elyon’s Bright Star.

‘Fear hasn’t hurt your aim much,’ Farrell said. ‘All men feel fear,’ Corban said. ‘Gar told me that. It’s what you do about it–stand or run, fight or give up–that’s what makes you a coward or hero. Without fear there is no courage.’

In a sentence her political duelling has become a reality.

‘I think she hates me,’ Corban said. ‘At least she hits me as if she does.’ ‘There’s a knife’s edge between love and hate,’ Brina said.

Then she heard it too, faint as a sigh, floating on the wind from the mountains. A wolven howling.

it took the heart from the battle–no deeds of valour, no great displays of skill or strength that won the day–just a cold, soulless distribution of death.

Let my heart be true and my sword be sharp. Then he stepped into battle.

This world may be full of greed and tragedy and darkness, but I am fortunate beyond measure to have such people about me.

Is the human heart so fickle? So ready to embrace such evil? He snorted at himself. Listen to me. I am the heart of this wickedness, its root.

Then they were at the keep. There was a stillness, an emptiness that set Veradis’ skin prickling. That moment when the wind dies, just before a storm breaks.

‘Memory is a double-edged sword, Uthas. It can keep you strong through dark times, but it can also cripple you, keep you locked in a moment that no longer exists.’

Corban could still see Murias behind him, a dark spike on the horizon. Birds swirled above it, a black halo.