Ocean’s Blood by Thelma Mantey EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Thelma Mantey
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Vindt waited for the song to rise, for the killing to start.
He would have to wait some more. Down in the valley, the battle had barely
begun. In the clear air, the clang of clashing weapons, curses and screams
carried unfiltered up to his vantage point on the hill. A choir of death. But the
killing he waited for was of a different kind.
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He watched the fighting with dull detachment. Another war that was not
his, its outcome none of his concern. He had seen it so many times. As always,
a part of him longed to push his heels into the horse’s flanks and plunge into
the frenzy, draw his sword and fight, honestly, steel on steel, man on man. The
idea was childish, but it suggested relief from being an idle spectator, a servant
of a dark force that killed from a cowardly distance.
As always, Vindt stayed where he was.
An empty sky hung above, the sun at its zenith, strident, blinding. Vindt
hated the sun. It abolished every shadow, annihilating possible refuge for body
or mind. It sharpened the contours of the men in the valley, glinting off spear
points and sword blades, off armor and metal on horses’ bridles. No room for
ambiguity. The landscape reflected the sky’s bleakness, earth and rocks. A few
scrawny plants defied the arid climate.
Sweat trickled from Vindt’s armpits and down his back. It was too hot for
his liking, always was. The long-sleeved red tunic didn’t help with the heat. At
least his arms wouldn’t get sunburned.
Come on now, get it over with.
Vindt turned his gaze to the Singer. Silhorveen’s crimson robes with their
twisted dark lines flowed down his body as he watched the spectacle in the
valley. There was no breeze, his long dark hair a still mass. The seething hatred
the tall lean figure used to incite had dulled into a sense of inevitability, like
facing a natural calamity humans had no choice but to endure. These days,
laying eyes on Silhorveen mainly triggered a fierce desire to protect him. The
feeling was not Vindt’s, but imposed upon him by the magic embedded in the
bracelet around his right wrist. It made the sensation no less real. As real as the
disgust in its wake, the awareness of his impotence.
The dozen Guzzar soldiers who surrounded Silhorveen’s own small retinue
didn’t look happy either. Vindt pitied them. The Singer might win their war for
them, but that did nothing for their feelings toward him.
No, he envied them. They surely had their ties, money, a contract, loyalty,
love for their country. But they had a choice.
Vindt’s horse stamped its feet and shook its head against the flies. He
patted its neck. Poor thing; it suffered from the heat too. In the valley, ranks
had broken by now. The two armies were penetrating each other like eager
lovers
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