Free Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) by Ben Galley

streak, or sore out of it,’ Merion whispered with cracked lips.
    The faerie ran a hand through his hair and thought about that. ‘We found the church. And we got lucky with Doggard. Feels like a winning streak to me,’ Rhin said assuredly.
    ‘Hmmm,’ came the reply, and then there was silence again. Rhin did not mind one bit. That was a step in the right direction. Lucky indeed , he thought.
    There was a strong smell of fresh water in the air, one that sparked a memory in Rhin’s mind, one he had not dug out in many a year. It smelled like the fires of Carn’Erfjan, the fortress where he had spent his earliest years. Standing fast between the raging sea and the ice that inched down the black mountains, it was one of the oldest faerie forts in all of Undering. It had been built before the Fae marched south with the Barbarians and the Kelts, to fight the First Empire from their shores. Before they had been driven back to Eyra, or Éire as the humans called it.
    Ancient Fae law demanded the second-born of every family be trained as a fighter, to make war for Queen Sift. Rhin had been such an offering, left on the steps to be raised as—or more accurately, beaten into—a soldier, like the Spartans of the olden days.
    Another memory, one buried in an even deeper grave, came back to him then: one of trolls and cracking stone, of screams in the dust-choked darkness of the tunnels, screams that sliced through the constant roaring and gnashing of jaws and little bones. Rhin shuddered involuntarily, and pushed those memories away for another day.
    There were no two ways about it: a brutal upbringing it may have been, but it made Rhin the Fae he was today, and it helped to take some of the blame for his life’s crimes. His upbringing lightened the load. It was as Merion’s father had once said to him: a man is the product of his boyhood. How a boy is shaped echoes in the man he becomes . Rhin shook his head and rubbed the memories out of his eyes.
    Under the trees the evening air was cool, the sand dappled in the last shadows of the day. Rhin went straight to the small pool, his buzzing wings powering him forward, saving his feet the trouble. He kneeled at the water’s edge, cupped a hand, and sipped. The water was cool and fresh, with the tiniest hint of desert salt.
    ‘It’s pure enough,’ he told the others, who were shuffling into the copse. They too bent to their knees and lapped at the water, slaking their powerful thirsts. Merion wasted no time in whipping off his hat and plunging his head into the cool water, blowing bubbles with a long sigh. When he came up for air and got to his feet, he let the water drip down his neck and chest, washing away at least some of the day’s dust and sweat.
    It was not long before Lurker had a campfire crackling. They had bought some sun-cured, though rather unidentifiable, meat to go around. The rest of the supplies in Cheyenne had all been snapped up. Was it hound, cat, or tortoise? Who cared? Their hunger ignored the fact of it.
    Lurker tended the pan, as always. Lilain was already half asleep. Merion was getting there. Only Rhin sat bolt upright, listening to the noises of the desert. Above them, the trees rustled gently in the evening breeze. Their pale leaves gleamed in the firelight.
    Rhin could not get comfortable. It could have been the memories tugging at him, or something else entirely. He felt uneasy, and it irked him.
    ‘It’s ready,’ Lurker grunted, jolting him.
    The others sat up, rubbing bleary eyes. The sun had sucked the life out of them. It was no surprise that they ate in silence, staring like zombies into their bowls. Rhin was still the only one who kept his head up, his lavender eyes narrowed at the gloom as he chewed quietly.
    The faerie paused. He had heard something, and not just a crunch and squeal of some unfortunate creature, or the tittering of the insects. A rock tumbling.
    For what seemed an age, all he could hear was the noisy mastication of the