Free The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War) by Aaron Pogue Page A

bearing the sword Godslayer to the home of the only true hero Corin had ever met among the Godlanders.
    High time Corin went that way himself. He licked his lips, weighing the risk, then tossed it aside with a shrug. He closed his eyes and imagined a pretty little farmhouse within sight of the treacherous Dividing Line. It was a simple place, but strongly made, much like the man who lived there. It was a place that spoke of endurance and hope, of warmth and welcome. And Corin had been ordered in no uncertain terms to stay away forever.
    But who was he to bow to the whims of a Vestossi princess? A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maybe Ben would be waiting for him there. The princess didn’t like the dwarf any better. Corin barked with laughter and stepped through dream.
     

O beron’s magic was not enough to overcome Corin’s ignorance. Because Sera had never let Corin set foot inside the farmhouse, his step through dream deposited him at the front gate instead. He took advantage of the opportunity to consider this place.
    It was not what he would have expected. The only time Corin had ever spent in the countryside had been his recent weeks in hiding with Aemilia. The druid had shown a knack for rural life, but Corin had struggled with it.
    By the look of it, Sera had had no such struggles. The pretty little princess had abandoned her family’s palaces and estates without so much as an hour’s notice, but she’d settled into this three-room farmhouse as though it were home.
    It showed in the little touches. The windows boasted lace-trimmed curtains that hadn’t hung there when last he’d visited. The front door had a fresh coat of paint, and new flowers in a dozen shades lined the graveled walk to the front door.
    Corin let himself through the gate and started up the path. Auric had made his mark as well, though Corin had to look harder to spot it. A pair of muddy leather boots beside the front door sported the worked-silver spurs of a Dehtzlan free lance. The axe he’d used for splitting firewood—still leaning near the woodpile—had a wicked half-moon blade that had been made for battle. Corin knew from recent experience the importance of a wood axe’s shape in its use. Fine though the weapon was, it might require twice the effort to split a log with that thing.
    But this farmboy was just the sort to spend that extra effort just to make something harmless—something useful , as he would see it—out of a device designed for killing. That was precisely the sort of romantic nonsense the farmboy would go in for.
    Corin could use that sentimentality. He’d taken advantage of it once before, when he’d convinced the farmboy to rescue a total stranger against the advice of his more careful friends. That time, Corin had left the man for dead. A week later, he’d tried to impersonate the farmboy to the princess, but even wrapped in Oberon’s powerful magic, he’d failed to deceive her. That small deception played some part in her continuing distrust of him. As for the farmboy, Corin could only guess how he’d respond. Corin hadn’t shared a word with him since he’d left him for dead.
    He squared his shoulders, caught a calming breath, and rapped on the door. Beyond the farmhouse, the sun set.
    A voice called something indistinct through the sturdy door, and Corin waited. Then at last the door swung wide.
    It wasn’t Auric. Princess Sera was a living portrait. Even standing there disheveled—hair tied back and sleeves rolled up, with suds all to her elbows—even standing there disheveled, she looked like oil on canvas. Her hair was gold, her eyes sapphire, her skin a sun-kissed amber.
    And though she had despised the darker natures of her name, she still stood proud and angry as any man who ever wore the name Vestossi. She spent one heartbeat on surprise, then threw her shoulders back and glared at Corin down her lovely nose.
    “Master Hugh,” she said in icy tones.
    And then she slammed the