Broken Glass
Story by Adam Jolly
Prologue
The Trithinite sister’s eyes hunted back and forth between the wounded man and Captain Norr. Her fingernails dug crescents into her palms, and finally frustration defeated reserve. The sister’s voice was a husky shout, too ragged and exhausted to scream. ‘I don’t know anything more! You’ve captured all of us! You’ve won, can’t you see that? Please, don’t hurt this village any more than you already have!’
Chapter One
Her mother looked ahead, waving primly at the approaching duo and clutching her daughter’s arm. ‘You’re lucky because you’re old enough now to start thinking about marriage, and you’re about to spend all morning on your own with Sutten’s most eligible bachelor.’
Chapter One, contd.
Beryl bristled. He hadn’t been there when the nomads came whooping out of the dark, their horses trampling the crops and their torches arcing through the cold night air to land, burning, in the hayloft.
Chapter One, contd.
‘I need to see the world, you know? There has to be more to life than just farming and trying to make money…’
Chapter One, contd.
The man’s head twisted to the side, fearful, fearsome eyes burning into the brush from where Fernan’s voice had come. He released Beryl’s shirt collar, took a step towards the sound, his fist and his jaw clenched tight. The thin knotty muscles of his shoulders flexed beneath bramble-torn rags. Filthy, blood-soaked bandages crisscrossed the man’s back. The bandages were not expertly applied; as he moved Beryl could see a red, open wasteland of raw flesh between them.
Chapter Two
She tied her pouch closed, reattached it to her belt. The hunter was nearly upon her. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back to feel the cool night breeze on her throat, and whispered a quick prayer to her god.
Chapter Two, contd.
‘He asked for me.’ The words fell flat from Lisetta’s lips, slapping lifeless against the air. She slung her healer’s kit from her shoulder, placed it on the ground, opened it up. The icy feeling in her gut, gone since Beryl leapt upon her, was back with a vengeance.
Chapter Two, Interlude.
She carried a metal cylinder in her arms, her back bowed and her legs shaking under the thing’s weight. It slid, unsteady in her bandaged grasp. Thousands of miles away and months before, a young soldier had stenciled ‘Property of Rahmosian Government – High Explosive: Load This End First’ onto it in yellow letters. The woman’s grip on the shell was tenuous at best; she was missing two fingers from her left hand, and one from her right.