Vengeance of the Hunter

Excerpt from current WIP, Vengeance of the Hunter

For those of you who’ve read Valor of the Healer, here, have a glimpse of what I’m working on now–Book 2 of the series, Vengeance of the Hunter!

Putting this behind a cut tag because spoilers.

Eyes shut or no, he was restless, but his balance was skewed along with his vision, and he had to constantly rethink every little movement he might make. His new right hand was still weak, the left slower than it should have been, yet by feel alone Julian found and drew one of the daggers he’d refused to go without. While everyone else in Gerren’s study argued back and forth, he sheathed the blade and drew it over and over again. When he was sure he could find it with either hand, he did the same with the other weapons he wore.

I’ll do this.

It would have been a vow to Tykhe if he’d thought about it. But Julian forced all thought out of his awareness, devoting himself instead to the instincts that needed to be honed anew after the days he’d lost in recuperation and slumber. With his eyes still closed, with the last of his daggers drawn, he began to shift it back and forth between his hands. The weight of the blade was strangely comforting, and for all that the texture of the hilt was rough against his right palm, he welcomed the sensation. It goaded his senses, challenging him to move the dagger faster, to see if he could twirl it between the fingers Faanshi had restored to him. That motion, too, was reassuring. It felt familiar. It felt like–


Julian froze as his new fingers went numb and nerveless, and it was no comfort at all that his left hand caught the weapon before it could clatter to the floor. His eyes snapped open on the sight of Faanshi and the four elves headlong in their debate, a few scant paces away. Inevitably, as it’d done seemingly of its own accord since he’d awakened, his gaze locked on the healer girl.

Her face had held an unearthly radiance when she’d healed Kestar Vaarsen–both times, Julian remembered. Yet even then she hadn’t looked so vibrant as she did now. Faanshi’s countenance shone, not with magic, but with the simple burgeoning glow of her own assurance. The meek little mouse he’d rescued from the Camden church was gone, replaced by a dove taking flight as she tested the strength of her wings.

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and Tykhe help him, he adored her.

Which didn’t excuse for an instant how he’d somehow forgotten his partner. He knew all too well what it felt like to lose a part of his own flesh, and Rab’s absence felt exactly like that, as if the knife had taken his hand all over again.

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