The ogres had besieged Sacarosa for twenty-three days. Hideous monsters, twice the size of even the largest men, were completely immune to any negotiations the governor of the city tried. They wanted gold, yes, but they wanted every ounce within the walls. They wanted all the gold, jewels, and everything of value in the city.

  They wanted the lives of every man, woman, and child within the walls. The resources of the city had been strained to their limit already by the influx of people fleeing the countryside to the assumed safety of the city walls. The city was well guarded, however, with a mixture of resident soldiers, imported mercenaries, and well trained knights bolstering the defense of the city. Still, the defenders were pressed hard, and the priest-run hospital of Sacarosa was perpetually filled with wounded knights and siege-sick citizens.

  Inside the hospital, veteran knight John “Falcon” Peregrine opened heavy eyelids and blinked twice. He was bone tired, but surprisingly not in pain. That worried him for a moment, especially as his memories of the battle returned. He’d seen men gravely wounded in battle mercifully spared the pain of their injuries in their final moments. He slowly flexed his fingers and toes, relieved when they responded freely. Maybe he simply fell from exhaustion.

  “Oh, you’re awake.” A movement nearby drew Falcon’s attention to his left. It was a thin young man with a curly black tonsure wearing a simple cassock rolled up at the sleeves. A priest, clearly, but the youngest one Falcon had ever seen. Falcon wondered if the priest was even old enough to shave as the young man crossed to his side.

  The young priest expertly checked his wounds with a hum of satisfaction, pausing at one point to cross himself and pray over the one to Falcon’s stomach. Falcon waited respectfully for him to finish before asking the important questions.

  “How long have I been here?” Falcon winced. His voice sounded coarse even to himself.

  “Three days.” The young priest offered him a sip of watered down wine. “They said that you took out over a score of ogres before you fell to nearly that many wounds. You’re one of the Knights of the North Star, aren’t you?” Curiosity filled the priest’s face and voice. “I heard you were giants, but I thought the rumors were exaggerated.”

  “And now?” Falcon gave a small grin. Compared to the stick standing in front of him, six and a half feet tall probably did look like a giant.

  The priest shrugged. “You’re definitely a giant and you’ve definitely lived up to the legend. Your order left under cover of darkness the night after you were brought here, so I can’t say I’m impressed with the rest of the Knights of the North Star.”

  Falcon closed his hand over the young priest’s wrist and leaned toward him even as he pulled the younger man closer. “The Knights of the North Star are not cowards,” he narrowed his eyes and hissed through clenched teeth.

  “I didn’t say they were cowards.” To his credit the scrawny priest neither flinched nor looked away. “Though I’m not at all sure abandoning the people who are counting on you over money is any more noble.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Falcon tightened his grip on the priest’s arm. Loyalty to his order weighed against the trouble he could get in for assaulting a man of the cloth. He was easily twice the size of the stick with a mouth that stood beside his cot and could snap the priest’s arm in his hand like a twig. It would be a long time before the childish priest disrespected the Knights of the North Star again.

  The young priest held his breath, his jaw tight and his chin lifted defiantly, his eyes unafraid and almost daring Falcon to make the first move. The fire in the scrawny priest’s eyes and the tension in his lithe body stood in stark contrast to his passive acceptance of Falcon’s threat.

  Without warning, the priest’s eyes flew wide and the tension drained from his body. He stared at a spot behind Falcon as if he’d completely forgotten Falcon was there.

  Falcon clamped his jaw down on the temptation to shout to anyone nearby that he didn’t actually hurt the smaller man as the priest began shouting himself.

  “The ogres have taken the city!” The priest pulled unsteadily at Falcon’s grip, which Falcon loosened, but didn’t release for fear that the priest was having some kind of fit. The young man’s eyes were vacant, watching something only he could see. “Sacarosa has fallen.”

  “What?” Falcon gripped the priest’s opposite shoulder and shook him roughly. Was this a vision? Falcon couldn’t think of anything else it could be, and the way the boy was shouting, it didn’t portend anything good. “I don’t hear the noise of battle. What are you saying?”

  “The hospital… the patients.” Whatever the priest was seeing brought fear to his absent eyes. “I–I don’t understand. Please—”

  A sharp gasp and the spell ended, leaving the priest standing still and silent in Falcon’s hands. While Falcon was glad the eerie vision was over, the panic in the young man's voice and his unnatural stillness after left Falcon with a lingering sense of anxiety and need for action.

  “Hey, whatever fool is responsible for this kid needs to get over here!” Falcon bellowed out into the room. Dang clerics.

  “I’m fine,” the priest whispered. Falcon let him stand, but he immediately wobbled. Falcon caught him again as he sat back on the cot heavily. “I need to get to Father Mattias.”

  An older man who fit every expectation Falcon had of a hospitaller priest hurried over–as old as Methuselah, as wrinkled as a raisin, and as commanding as a general. He looked at the young man in Falcon’s grip with grim concern. The younger priest was alert, but looked like he would be sick.

  “I think he had some kind of vision.” Falcon kept a steady hand on the young priest’s back.

  Both priests looked at him in shock. Falcon fought the temptation to roll his eyes. It's not like what he witnessed was normal behavior for young priests.

  “Unless the ogres have taken the city.” Falcon found himself wishing he knew where his battle ax had gone to.

  The young priest looked down at his hands and shook his head.

  “Not yet,” the older priest confirmed softly. “Sebastian, we will continue this conversation in my chambers.” The older priest gestured to the younger man–Sebastian apparently–who got up from the cot and fled the room.

  “I’m coming, too.” Falcon rose from the cot as well, towering over the elderly priest. He raised a hand when the priest tried to object. “I saw his face, Father. You’re going to need someone with my skills.”

  Father Mattias nodded sharply and turned to follow Sebastian. Falcon looked down at his own bare chest, torn trousers, and complete lack of armor or weapons. Once the implications of the young priest’s vision were clear, he’d either enlist someone to help find his weapons or procure more. They were going to need a battle plan, and Falcon was fairly certain that a young seer and elderly hospitaller were ill suited to the task.