Hemlock And The Dead God's Legacy (Book 2) by B. Throwsnaill Page B

everyone that I cared for.  My existence now is just a slow, painful march to death.  For there can be no meaningful life without family, right?”
    Hemlock thought of her sister Mercuria, and what her loss might do to her.  She shuddered at the thought, and felt more empathy for Faud.
    “Sometimes, new family emerges to replace the old,” Hemlock said.
    Faud was seized by a passion and turned to Hemlock . “But my blood has been wrenched from this world!  They can never be replaced!”
    Hemlock tried to calm him by maintaining her relaxed tone . “But you could have children.  Sometimes friends become like family.  It has happened to me.”
    Safreon!
    She saw Faud taking measure of her as they faced one another, the weight of the conversation becoming almost palpable.
    And then he smiled.  He knelt on the stone floor and searched for something in a backpack.  He withdrew an ancient looking ornate box framed in gold leaf.  Faud opened the box, and rose to show its contents to her.  It was lined with a rich black velvet, and inside was a red piece of cloth that been rolled into a small scarf.
    “I like you, Hemlock. You’re different than we Tanna Varrans…more elemental. It would honor me if you would wear this loop around your wrist. It is said to bring good luck to friends of my…family.”
    Hemlock looked at the bright red cloth as Faud extended the box toward her. The red cloth also looked ancient yet well preserved, and there were tatters of frayed fabric along its length.  It was woven with a level of craft that she had never beheld, with intricate raised threads portraying a repeating pattern of griffin heads in profile across its surface.
    She smiled at him and withdrew it, tying it gently around her right wrist.
    Suddenly her head swooned and her consciousness was swept away into a trance.
    She was in an unfamiliar town, and a crowd was assembled. A figure moved through the crowd in a flowing red robe that she somehow knew was made from the same red fabric Faud had just handed her. Her senses thrilled as she saw the figure through the crowd, but, try as she might, she could not catch more than a glimpse of him.  She had a sense of incredible peace that seemed heightened whenever she managed to catch sight of that red robe.
    Then, s lowly, she became conscious of Faud’s voice in her ear, the fact that she was resting on her back on the cold stone, and of the stale air of the cave. The vision of the town and the wonderful figure faded.
    “We call this ‘Kinslayer.’ It is an ancestral weapon used by Witchawn when we fight. You know us as witches, of course. I am Kendral Witchawn, last of the Witchawn line—since you killed my sister, and the blue devils killed my other sibling, that is.  The wretch known as Faud died some time ago when we happened upon him and his family.  His circumstances have proven to be an effective cover for me.  It’s taken me surprisingly little time to get close to you.”
    Faud had a firm grip on her neck, and was close to choking her, but Hemlock felt her senses and strength returning rapidly. She bided her time and listened, as she wondered about him and his change in tone.
    Is he claiming to be a Witch?
    “The Kinslayer is said to show the victim an alternate life, and render them helpless to resist or defend themselves. It is said to provide some glorious vision which robs the victim of the will to resist.  My sister underestimated you. Clearly, if you have the power to slay one of us, then you must be one of us. She should have used the Kinslayer against you. But the fool left it in her ziggurat. After she was slain, I searched the ruins of her fortress, and I found it.”
    Faud shifted position and sat in front of her, his forked tongue convincing Hemlock that his tale was more than the product of the delusions of a Tanna Varran warrior.
    But I thought the witches could only possess women?
    “I had no great love for my sister, but the Tanna Varrans hunt