Ciaran clutched his sword tightly and watched the boats come rolling in on the tide, bounce on the waves, prows gleaming with fangs and skulls, bristling with the weapons of the hordes waiting to spill onto the shore and draw red blood from the green earth.
And then Odran said, “Gifted warriors, to me!”
Several men and women detached themselves from the ranks and rallied around the old blind man, and Ciaran recognized them, the ones who could move things with a glance, stir the weather and breathe fire into thin air. He knew Odran was calling him as well.
No comments:
Post a Comment