Series: The Rusted Blade
- Swordmaiden
- Paladin
- Rust, Blood, and Flame
- Light, Faith, and Sacrament
- Feeding the Flame
- The Fire Consuming
- An Embrace Eternal
- Dancing with Death
- A Chosen Tool
- Silence after the Storm
- A True Beginning
- Distant Whispers
- In Presence Exalted
- Servants of Fire
- Of the Dark, Of the Light
- A Warm Glow
- An Introduction and a Challenge
- Flames of the Fire
- Blazing Sparks
- Burning Coals
- Rebirth by Flame
- Aspects of Divinity
- Burden’s Release
- Cold Fire – and Hot Fury
- Resolve and Passion
- Grim Purpose
- That Which Is Given
- Grim Focus
- Weight and Depth
- Grim Satisfaction
- Slaughter and Sacrifice
- Grim Determination
- Duty and Death
- Grim Destruction
- Grim Fury
At long last, Orthael returned the sword to its guard position and stood quietly for several seconds before realising there were no foes left to slay. That was not to say that he was alone, however. There was someone in the clearing beyond the trees, a silhouette that knelt low at the very centre of a circle of destroyed bodies.
Lycans, thought he. Not the Dead. Ashmar’s touch lies not on these.
The flame that tugged was still now, burning low. Neither spark nor smoke nor ember spoke, and so Orthael approached. The figure was slight, young, female. She rose to a full kneel, lifting and displaying a sword that rang clear with power.
Orthael strode on until he reached the very edge of the clearing and waited, for though he could not see her tears he could feel the grief within her crackle – fierce and hard like the wrath of the Fire. He stood, patiently.
Surely the Fire had brought him here, moving through the world on its mysterious and benevolent dance. There was no need to rush the moment.