Exiled: Winter's Curse
Caleath journeys south determined to prove himself. The conflict between bandits, refugees and a sorceress complicates his journey. What does the title 'Deathbringer' and the rumor of dragons hold for his destiny?
The persistent probing into his head drove him to distraction. Adrenaline provoked growing frustration and berserk rage simmered while the cause of his dismay remained intangible.
While Caleath searched for an invisible foe, any bandit left on their feet made good their retreat. In the bitter cold of a starless night Caleath found himself alone among the dead and wounded. A crescendo of mind numbing pain spread from the small of his back. He staggered. Inside his head, he tried to repel the attempted telepathic incursion.
Moonlight broke through heavy clouds. Snow dissipated, blown across a dark sky as if harried by windswept fury.
Anger and unbearable pain brought Caleath to a standstill. Frustrated by the relentless touch inside his head, he retaliated.
With malice, he planned revenge. Memory provided all the malevolence he needed to upset a fledgling wizard. In a moment of aching despair, he fashioned haunting visages and scenes steeped in enough emotion a telepath would not escape empathy without dismay. Caleath dropped the barriers protecting his mind from intrusion for less than a heartbeat. Long enough for a telepath to ‘share’ his thoughts, not long enough to risk an invasion of his guarded mind. With a single revelation, he sought to overwhelm the nagging wizard.
Cold surged through his blood. He stood alone in the cold dark night.
Rage subsided. Only the aftermath of blood lust and adrenaline kept him on his feet. Nausea and a bout of coughing filled his mouth with blood. The pain worried him. He had suffered before. While nanobots kept him alive, he had knocked at Death’s gate on too many occasions. Now though, no healing machines flowed through his bloodstream.
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