Enter to win a signed copy of Bradley P. Beaulieu’s new novel The Winds of Khalakovo
“From the Spices of Sanandira, Pt. II,” by Bradley P. Beaulieu
We have neither heard nor seen sign of the ehrekh since leaving the caravanserai three days ago. Perhaps the gods toy with me on my final voyage home, for my mind is resolute–no matter what dangers might present themselves in Harrahd, I will return home. Or if my Alenha has fled back to our village, I will search for her there.
“The Godslayer’s Wife,” by Therese Arkenberg
I loved him with gratitude and pity, and in time, as I saw the hero he was, I came to love him with reverence and envy, too. And all the time I hoped I might also do a great deed–that I might cure a hero of his scars. But my love, and what understanding I can offer, do nothing. Still he writhes, crying out in the night.
I heft the shovel in my hand. The glint of it doesn’t compare. If I sharpened it, maybe. If I flattened it out with a mallet and ran the edge against a stone until it sparked like death-day firecrackers, then it just might outgleam the cat’s ruby torque.
I get up and go to my old war chest. I wipe down the carved top once a week, but when I open it dust wafts up from the inside. My weapons are all well put away, but the metal looks dull from dust sticking to the oil. I kneel. The scent reminds me of an attic, of things forgotten.