Stormlands ( Book 2 of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Two: Whispers of the Gods, PT 1

By the time Katerin reached the gates again the fighting had ended, though she had already had her share of it on the many nights before this one. Wounded were already being tended and bodies were well on their way to being buried or burned.

She found Fykes working to move the rumble away from the wall. It was disheartening to see it  in this state—even further from complete.

He gave her a tired nod. "This is gonna take awhile to repair."

She chewed on her lip. "Maybe. But I can help." She gave him a once over with a weary expression. He was covered in dirt and blood, but it seemed most of it was not his.

"I'm alright," he said with a chuckle, catching her gaze. "Beymor?"

She rubbed her eyes, squinting at the beginnings of a headache. "He's alive... in good hands."

Fykes let out a pensive sigh. "Good... they're getting more aggressive. We'll need to attack soon, if that's what we're doing."

"Tomorrow night? As they leave to come here?"

"That idea is as good as any," he said. He stepped away from the cleared section of the wall and squeezed her hand. "Come on. Take a break and get some food."

She shook her head. "No. Not yet. I should help them with the wall... you go, keep something warm for me."

Fykes squinted but did not argue, walking briskly and disappearing behind the gates.

Katerin let her smile fade as Fykes left. She was exhausted. Her dreams still haunted her, and all this fighting was starting to wear on her. She wanted to be here to help, and had not hesitated to agree when asked.

Graiden somehow thought she was cut out for this, but he also thought she was cut out to be a lady and she doubted him heavily on both counts. Part of her wished for her quiet room in Hearth-Home—where nothing ever happened, and her friends and family were safe. But all she had was out here on the western side of the Ekylid mountains with a bunch of disgruntled dwarves, bloodthirsty orcs, and destructive giants. It had started wearing on her already. Those same doubts from her first fight at the keep, months ago, creeping into her thoughts like a spider might creep along its web. She loved these people, but she despised the conflict that seemed never far from sight.

She helped the dwarves repairing the wall until weariness made her near to useless, and her magic was used to its very last spark. Shaping and sealing stone took a lot out of her and only worked in small amounts, but it was a big risk to leave the wall untended.

By the time she had given her every drop of energy, the wall had been mostly repaired—if the patches and timbers that braced it could truly be called a fix. She wandered groggily back toward the campfire, and found Juen'tal walking next to her.

Her surprise came out as a tired breath, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"You came and helped me, earlier," he said, looking down at her.

She only stared at him, too tired to comment on the obvious.

"Why?"

"Because you looked like you needed it. You could have died."

His brow furrowed for only a second. "It should have killed me then."

"Since you lived, you can learn from it." Her tone was tired. "That's the benefit to having someone to watch your back."

"I don't."

She frowned, ignoring the slight pain his words caused. "Then I hope you're a quick learner."