Seven Swords
an excerpt

Someone would die tonight. Jon could feel it in his bones. It was something he felt before in the north as a young man when he and a thousand soldiers of the Emperor faced an army of five thousand bewitched black-god-worshipping Voth. he lost his two best friends that night. Sket fell under a Voth axe that split his head in two and Daniel took four arrows in the chest when he ran to help. Jon had known things were bad when his friends boasted about what they would do to the young Voth women afterwards.

He knew it now too. There was no boasting. Each of the Seven Swords was a veteran of battle. They knew the truth of combat. In any battle, regardless of skill, there are only three outcomes. Either your opponent dies, you die, or both of you die. A good sword, high ground, or exceptional skill may push the odds but never by much. Jon had seen the best musketeers fall and cowards survive duels with masters lying in their own bubbling blood. Combat wasn't about skill, it was about luck.

The seven swords knwe that, even Adrin had picked it up by now. Jon wondered if he would be the first to fall. Someone would.

Rain water fell on his head and shoulders. It rolled over his eyes and from his lips. It ran down his arm and the shining steel edge of his rapier. He smelled the air and watched the torches in front of him.

The seven swords had done well the nights before but it was to be expected. Now the Sticks knew they were there and things would be much harder. Jon felt his stomach turn and felt lines of tension tighten in the back of his neck. He turned left and saw Kal standing on another small hill, his huge war club resting on his shoulder. Kal saw him and grinned, if one could call it that. Jon turned right and saw Vrenna under her cloak, rivers of rain running off of her hood. She didn't move but Jon could feel her understanding that he watched her.

He looked down and saw Susan looking at him. Like Vrenna, she too was cloaked. Her face got wet when she looked up at Jon. The expression on her face was resolute but the rain made her look like she was crying. She turned away and watched the oil torches grow closer.

The battle would begin soon.

The Sticks were thirsty for blood. And, if Jon's instincts were right at all, they would have it.