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The Veridian Wars Chapter 1.4

Enjoy this 3 minute read from Chapter 1 of my epic fantasy, The Veridian Wars.

This chapter is a 'author's cut', so the first half did not make the final book. I've posted it here for interested readers to enjoy some extra material.


Chapter 1.1

Chapter 1.2

Chapter 1.3

Chapter 1.4

Chapter 1.5

Chapter 1.6

Chapter 1.7

Chapter 1.4

“We leave now,” the captain growled. The look in his eye defied any one of them to question him.

Mal failed to pick up the cue. “What?” Spit flew from that open mouth. “Strike camp? What was the point making camp only to—”

“We won’t be striking,” Arenas said with a crack in his voice. “We leave at once. Armed and armoured.”

“Battle?” More spit. Mal just couldn’t help himself. “You never said what about battle.”

The captain’s grimace tightened as he turned hostile eyes on Mal. “We are soldiers. We are always ready for battle.” He shifted focus to the others. “Ready yourselves. The sun has just now sunk beneath the horizon and we won’t see it again for an eightnight.”

Arenas mentioned nothing of the unnatural terrors that, despite the best efforts of the Faith, the men here believed were imminent.

“We leave within the hour,” Arenas turned to go. “Eat, and be ready.”

Everyone dispersed to follow orders. Mal muttered to himself about bad omens and cruel gods, and his own ill luck to find himself on a senseless campaign on the first eve of the Darkness with a group of fools.

“You know we can hear you, halfwit?” Larzus shouted.

For once Mal ignored him, and shaking his head, crawled into his tent.

Grigor stood motionless for a moment watching the actions of his fellows and trying to read the uneasy look on the captain’s face as he sat by his tent to sharpen his sword.

“You deaf as well as mute?” Grigor looked up. Vicon stood nearby, his eyes nearly filled with black. He was bouncing on his toes. The gold viridian earring glinting with the movement. “Dumb ox. Didn’t hear your captain? It’s time to get that lumbering unit of your body moving and ready!”

Grigor watched the slender man, his dark hair so greasy it hung in heavy cords close on his thin head. Spittle foamed at the corners his mouth. “Just ate, then?” Grigor said, arranging the most knowing expression he could muster.

Vicon’s mouth stopped working, his black eyes widened even further before he narrowed them. Then he turned and walked off toward Flur.


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