King's Folly (Book 2) Read Online Free

need you as rear guard.”
    “Only a fool follows a berserker into battle.”
    Oenghus bared his teeth at the woman. “I don’t take you for one.”
    “You don’t know me.” She hoisted her shield. “Do we have a plan?”
    He shrugged. “Fire, steel, and swift feet.”
    “As usual,” Marsais sighed.
    “There’ll be nothing usual about this fight.” Oenghus removed his sacred flask. “I’ve been practicing since you bested me, ye ol’ bastard.”
    “I’ll wager ten gold crowns that you singe your beard again.”

    ❧

    Oenghus Saevaldr brought his flask to his lips. Brimgrog, the sacred drink that few dared taste, burned down his throat. Fire filled his veins and he roared. The berserker’s battle cry shook the night, rippling through the ruin with threat.
    The Reapers had fair warning, but their hunger defied reason. The creatures’ thirst for blood was born from the Void—everything contrary to Life. Oenghus charged out of the archway, a burning brand clutched in his shield hand. Acacia followed with Rivan on her heels, helping Marsais, while Lucas brought up the rear. Those who were able, held a torch.
    A hiss joined the clamor of chain mail and steel and thudding boots. The group raced through the crumbling tower, plunging into the forest. And a hundred shadows converged.
    Oenghus was ready. He held up the torch and spit Brimgrog at its flickering top. Flames surged towards the enemy, sparking on scales and catching trees. The Reapers shrank back and the group raced onwards, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
    Thunder rolled above tree tops, dislodging needles from their branches. A white flicker followed, searing the endless stream of Reapers in the warriors’ eyes. The first drop of rain hit Acacia’s helm. The paladin bit back a curse.
    It seemed neither luck nor the divine were on their side tonight.
    Breathing fire into the shadows, Oenghus chose a direction, and stuck to it. A rolling boom knocked the rain loose from the heavens. It fell in a torrent, smothering their torches and beating their heads.
    The Reapers gathered and swarmed around their prospective feast. Oenghus swore a vile oath, hurling his useless torch at a Reaper’s head. The resulting crunch did little to ease his fury—he had singed his beard, and was ten crowns poorer for the wager.

    ❧

    Slowly, and then steadily, the ground began to rise. The barrage of Reapers lessened, the ruins fell behind, and the group climbed a mountainside.
    Eager to put distance between themselves and death, they continued their ascent. Despite their weariness, the group pressed on with Oenghus at the lead. Acacia dropped back to help Rivan with Marsais, who staggered and wheezed, while Lucas trudged up the mountain, guarding their backs.
    The climb was grueling, a blur of memory where one foot was placed after another, and little else was seen. White hot streaks slashed across the sky. Rain beat on their heads, and the wind threw it in their faces, washing away their own blood and the Reapers’ gore. But more importantly, their scent. As long as blood was in the air, Reapers would continue to hunt.
    High overhead, the trees creaked and moaned, thrashing their branches at the storm. Half way up the mountain, Marsais gave out, buckling to the ground with a violent and bloody coughing fit.
    “Oen stop!” Isiilde tugged on his beard, directing the giant’s head around like a horse. He turned, eyes wild with battle, hammer raised.
    “We need shelter,” Acacia called over the wind, kneeling beside the gasping seer.
    At her reasonable order, Oenghus blinked. Slowly, the lust for battle ebbed from his veins. Isiilde untangled herself from his kilt, slid off her guardian’s back and stumbled over to her Bonded.
    Oenghus knew Marsais well. The Scarecrow was heartier than he appeared and would push himself through the night, or until he died on his feet. He didn’t much feel like burying his corpse in this weather.
    “There’s a cliff