The Briar King

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The sky cracked and lightning fell through its crooked seams. With it came a black sleet tasting of smoke, copper, and brimstone. With it came a howling like a gale from hell.

Carsek drew himself up, clutching his bloody bandages, hoping they would keep his guts in until he saw the end of this, one way or another.

“She must order the charge soon,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet with the butt of his spear.

A hand jerked at Carsek’s ankle. “Get back down, you fool, if you want to live until the charge.”

Carsek spared a glance at his companion, a man in torn chain mail and no helm, blue eyes pleading through the dark mat of his wet hair.

“You crouch, Thaniel,” Carsek muttered. “I’ve done enough crouching. Fourteen days we’ve been squatting in these pig holes, sleeping in our own shit and blood. Can’t you hear? They’re fighting up front, and I’ll see it, I will.” He peered through the driving rain, trying to make out what was happening.

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