Dark Winds: Book Two of the Shadow's Fire Trilogy

Prologue and Chapter 1

Prologue

They call this a victory. They call this a great triumph. Cheering. Hoorays. Trumpets and drums. Prayers and thanks and clasped hands of friendship and relief.

Death. Blood. Weeping and crying and wailing. That is all I see. Fatherless daughters. Motherless sons. Childless parents. Family lines cut out from existence, extinguished from time. I see no victory here. I see only defeat—the greatest defeat.
Man and dwarf sign treaties. They shake hands. They speak promises. Pretense. Folly. Lies. Peace will never hold. As long as the Shadow has any stake in this world, peace will never hold.

Men cry freedom. Freedom. Such a fickle word. What is freedom? Bound by Shadow. Bound by false words. Bound by false beliefs, false gods. There is no freedom here.

The flies are thick. They create a thundering buzz as they fill the sky like black clouds. I hear the Plains dogs in the distance. They smell blood. I hear the squawking of crows, high above the flies. Death brings life, I suppose.

I have never been so tired, as I walk among the dead. My muscles ache. My eyes burn. My throat is dry and there is no water to drink—only blood. A dead man stares at me. His eyes are blue, stern and cold. His mouth is turned to a frown. His right hand clutches the shaft of an arrow jutting from his gut. His left is clenched in a fist. His sword lays at his side, clean, unused. He looks upset—not sad, but angry that he never got a chance to fight.

I kneel down. His blue eyes, his blonde hair, his pale skin show him as an ally, but I never knew him. I close his eyes. I say a prayer over him. I draw a circle on his forehead with the only thing available—blood.

"May An welcome you to his halls, soldier."

I would say a prayer over every soldier, but then I would be here for a lifetime.

"Skull Crusher."

The voice carries over the crying, the buzzing, the yelling, the cheering. I turn.

"Long Spear," I call back.

He looks how I feel. Tired. Worn. Weary. Blood covers his mail. He has lost his shield. The shaft of his spear has been shattered. His forehead and cheek look burnt.

"They are gathering," he says.

"Who?" I ask.

"Justus Guerus. Rimrûk Aztûk. Lord Stone Axe and General Steel Fist."

"For what?"

"The signing of the treaty," Long Spear says. "The beginning of the Great Peace. The En Conquillas the men of Gol-Durathna are calling it."

"Peace." I laugh. I know better.

"Will you go see? Will you receive your just honors? You are a hero, after all."