The Last Warden.pdf
Aedan Cousland felt the sword slip from his fingers as he fell
to his knees. Above him the man grunted, pulling his own
blade free. Beneath Aedan's arm it had slipped, striking deep
and true where the armor was weakest. And still the man was
hidden beneath his helm, a nameless, faceless servant of Arl
Howe. Vengeance… there should be… vengeance. As he
sank beside the already still figure of his father, Aedan could
only hope that Fergus was still alive to take it.
Lunging aside, Duran Aeducan narrowly escaped the ogre's
charge. But he turned quick, leaping, blade digging into the
creature's thigh. Up he forced himself, stabbing again and
again, taking it in gut and chest and throat. It fell beneath him,
sending him stumbling as it crashed to the ground. Behlen.
Even as he bent to catch his breath, the thought quickened
him. There was no escape from the Deep Roads but perhaps
he could still see justice done. He did not hear it as it slipped
behind him, its shriek piercing. Pain then, the claws taking him
cross the belly, his wondering fingers touching there, blinking
at the blood as he collapsed.
Theron Mahariel stared up at the canvas above him. Strange,
this place, the aravel not his own. How he had come to be
here, how long it had been, he could not say. But he could
remember the look on Keeper Marethari's face; the sickness