Lightning's Daughter

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Lord Branth slid into the shadowed entrance of a storage tent just as several enemy warriors dashed by. He drew a long, ragged breath and, for a moment, savored the warm darkness of his shelter.

Events were happening so fast. He could hardly believe he was hiding in the middle of this huge encampment—a camp that up until a little while ago had been the center of a victorious force of clan warriors and mercenaries under the ironfisted command of Lord Medb. Now, the camp was nothing more than a place of chaotic retreat.

Branth cocked his head to listen to the sounds outside the tent. He could still hear the clash and yells of battle from the broad valley beyond the camp. His fingers curled tighter around the dagger he held.

The fools! he thought to himself. The Wylfling clan was still fighting. Didn’t they realize the day had been lost when the sorceress had destroyed Lord Medb? Had they missed that stunning duel of magic?

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