Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“So, I’m assuming you stumbled into some action?” I ask as he drops into a chair and sips his wine.
“You remain the master strategist, Cassius,” he grunts. “How did you ever piece that together?”
“How bad is he hurt?”
Tovik lets out a long exhale as he stares at nothing. “Three claw marks on his hind leg. I carried him home on my shoulders. His wolf was howling up a storm, I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”
“How long will he be out?”
“Three nights. Maybe four. They were deep. The venom got in.”
I curse under my breath as I turn back to my map with all of the carved wolf and Hollowborn figurines along the river. We’re already tight in numbers and once that princess arrives, we’ll be on the hook for double the territory. The moment Aurevale’s royal blood crosses into Varkhar, our obligation begins.
“The recruits?” Tovik asks.
“On their way.”
We sent the word through the kingdom that Varkhar needed more blood warriors to defend the realm. They began trickling in yesterday. Hopefully, many more will arrive in the upcoming days. We need as many as we can get.
“Once you finish your sweet swill,” I say with a huff of frustration, “come show me on the map where you had your encounter.”
Tovik downs the rest of his bloodberry wine, stands up with a growl, and slams his finger onto the Blood River—in an unusual spot by the Beranger Cliffs.
“Interesting,” I whisper as I ponder what that could mean. Are the Hollowborn trying to divert us, spread us thin, or perhaps, they’re trying to move us away from Aurevale, so they can attack?
But I know none of that is true. The Hollowborn are ruthless and vicious killers, but smart and strategic, they are not.
It almost saddens me that I do not have an enemy playing on my level. One to challenge my wits and my strategic ability. One that keeps me guessing and on my toes.
No, the Hollowborn are not that kind of enemy. They are more suited to Tovik’s preferred form of negotiation. Brute force. Pure power. An abundance of violence and little to no conversation.
They are vicious creatures. Sent by the dark Gods themselves. Taller than a man when standing on two legs and larger than even Tovik’s wolf when they drop onto all fours. They feel little pain and can fight all night even with the most grievous of injuries. Their long deadly claws carry a venom made for torturing wolf shifters. The bright green liquid slows our healing ability and can temporarily prevent shifting, which poor Althorn is discovering as we speak. Most likely, his wolf is writhing in pain, ruing the day he was born.
Oh well, at least Tovik can have his fun out there. And it’s not like running the kingdom does not give me any chance to use my intelligence and strategic thinking. There are supply runs to be organized, schedules to be constructed, budgets to be balanced, recruits to train, and an endless list of other tasks to keep my mind occupied.
“What about the girl?” Tovik says as I run my finger along the Blood River, wondering why the Hollowborn are suddenly attacking at the Beranger Cliffs. The Hollowborn cannot see worth a damn, but they can smell blood across a valley, feel a footstep through stone, and hear a terrified heart beating in the dark. They travel in packs and somehow share sensory information amongst themselves, so the greater their numbers, the more capable each individual creature becomes. But still, they usually avoid the cliffs since even the most adept Hollowborn can still tumble off one in the dark. I wonder if we can use this to our advantage…
“Cassius,” Tovik grunts a little louder.
“What?”
“The girl.”
“What girl?”
“The princess.”
“What about her?”
“When is she arriving?”
“I don’t know,” I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. This man and his fairy tales. I blame his mother for filling his young head with all of those ridiculous stories of beautiful trapped princesses and the brave heroes who saved them. “She arrives when she arrives.”
Tovik absentmindedly plays with a Hollowborn figurine on my map, placing his fingertip on the head and rolling it around. I slap his hand away and return it to its proper place.
“Do you think she’s beautiful?”
“I couldn’t give one damn about it,” I snap. “And neither should you. We have our hands full here if you haven’t noticed.”
“I heard she wears jewels in her hair.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t doubt it from those rich fools. They probably wipe their asses with gold coins.”
“I’m nervous,” he says, looking at his giant hands caked with blood and mud.
“For what?”
“To meet the princess.”
This man is unbelievable. I’ve seen his bloodthirsty wolf rip the head off of a Hollowborn in one savage bite. I’ve seen him break men’s jaws, arms, orbital bones, and even some poor fucker’s pinkie when we were younger and Tovik lost at an arm wrestling match (the one time he lost in his entire life).