Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2) Read Free Page A

something terrible. Lord Uriah, and more so his people, have paid heavily for the knowledge we now possess. That knowledge must be put to use, otherwise, too many people will have perished in vain.” Her fine old wrinkled face tightened. Something deadly shone in her eyes then. “ That must not be. No, by Elohim, it must not.”
    Joash was sick of hearing about First Born, Nephilim or Seraphs. He wanted to drive out the memory of the giants, the sabertooths and the bloody beach. He never wanted to see anything like it again.
    “Can I take Harn with me?” He needed fresh air, and he wanted to talk with Adah—as soon as she returned from her patrol.
    “Harn survived, and so have you. Herrek gave his word about the outcome of such an event. You now own Harn.”
    Joash grinned tiredly.
    “Where is your spear?” Zillith asked. “You’re a groom now. As you’ve stated, our position here is a dangerous one. We’ve lost too many warriors and grooms. None must shirk their duty. As a groom, you’re supposed to go armed.”
    Joash massaged his forehead. Didn’t Zillith know about Gaut Windrunner, how on the beach Herrek had slain the giant with his, Joash’s, spear. Speaking slowly, almost painfully, Joash told her until she was called away to re-examine a wounded man.
    ***
    Lean Gens, the chariot-driver with his outrageous mustache, walked by Joash as the sun sank into the horizon.
    Joash gloomily sharpened his dagger as he sat on a leather-wrapped bundle. Harn slept at his feet. Joash had hailed Adah earlier as she returned from patrol. She had turned away, and her longboat had soon bumped against the huge Tiras . Joash had run to the longboats that were pulled onto the sandbar. He’d tried to talk several sailors into rowing him to the ship. Then Lord Uriah had jumped out of his longboat and waded to them. The white-bearded Patriarch had pulled him aside, and relayed a message: Adah wanted to be alone to think.
    “Think?” Joash had asked. “What—”
    “Give her time,” Lord Uriah had said. Then the Patriarch had walked away before Joash could belabor him with questions.
    Since then, Joash had found this spot on the leather-wrapped bundle, and sharpened his dagger to a razor’s edge.
    Now, Gens motioned. Lean Gens, with a drooping mustache, and thickly muscled forearms, was the greatest chariot-driver in Teman Clan. The driver motioned with his head for Joash to join him.
    Indifferently, Joash slid off the bundles, and slouched to Gens.
    “Herrek wishes to speak with you,” Gens said.
    “Is he well?” Joash asked. A rock-chip had flown off a giant-thrown boulder and clipped Herrek in the neck during the boat ride to the Tiras . There had been blood everywhere.
    “Like warrior, like groom,” Gens said. “Over there, go see him.”
    Joash shuffled his feet to the end of the sandbar, where the side of a small tent rippled in the breeze. Tall, red-haired Herrek sat against a water barrel, with fresh bandages on his neck. The warrior dug his hand into the sand, and let the fine white particles dribble between his thick fingers. Herrek wore leather bracers around his wrists, each laced tight with leather cords. He was Teman Clan’s greatest swordsman, the Champion.
    “Warrior,” Joash said.
    Herrek turned with a grimace, and smiled sourly. He had a warrior’s features, and piercing green eyes. There were barely scabbed cuts on his face, but nothing he would consider serious.
    “Join me,” Herrek said.
    Joash sat cross-legged on sand. The setting sun put red streaks in the sky. Joash couldn’t decide if it was beautiful, or a bleak reminder of what awaited them if the giants made it here.
    “Eat,” Herrek said, who motioned to the crabmeat and tea. Joash ate sparingly. Herrek seemed content to wait.
    “How’s the neck?” Joash asked, as he sipped tea.
    “I ache everywhere,” Herrek said, “but I’ve slept much.” His features hardened. “Too many good warriors have died in these forsaken