Brimstone Angels by Erin M. Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

away from her. “Eater of Her Enemies’ Livers,” she interrupted with a wicked glee. “I just thought of it.”
    Her twin glared up at her. “Not now.”
    “Why?” She seemed to notice Brin. “Oh. Well met. Is he dying?”
    “No.”
    “Good,” she said. “Then: Eater of Her Enemies’ Livers?”
    The first devil sighed. “No. It’s too many words.”
    The second girl scowled. “But they’re all the
right
words.”
    “It sounds pretentious.”
    “You
mean
‘glorious.’ ” The second girl wrinkled her nose and turned to Brin. “What do you think?”
    “Ab-about what?” he said. He swallowed. Was this how devils tricked one? Why couldn’t he remember? He could hear the clerics who had given him his lessons droning on about fiendish creatures, see all the lines of their faces, the whiskers of beards and the sleekness of severe coiffures … but the words weren’t coming to him.
    Not demons—demons would have ripped him apart and been done. That was something.
    “About ‘Eater of Her Enemies’ Livers,’ ” the girl said in an exasperated tone. “Is it pretentious or does it strike
fear
into the very core of your heart?”
    “She’s trying to name her glaive,” the first devil explained. “Like in a story.”
    The second one peered at him. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask you. You look a little peaked.”
    “Yes,” the first twin said. “So stop waving your glaive in his face, Havilar.”
    “Eater of Her Enemies’ Livers,” the second corrected.
    The first shrugged. She pulled a rag out of her haversack and handed it to her sister. “I liked ‘Kidney Carver’ better.” She took out a smallleather roll and handed it to Brin. “If you want, you can use it.” Brin stared, dumbly. She unrolled it for him. It looked like a healer’s kit.
    “Kidney Carver sounds common,” Havilar said. “Like some butcher’s cleaver.”
    “Where’s Mehen?” the devil-girl said, still watching him.
    “Cleaning up,” Havilar answered. “Why did you run out like that? He’s going to be furious.”
    She was quiet for a moment. “Not now, Havi.”
    “Yes now,
Farideh,
” Havilar said. “You ran out like you were going to start cutting all their heads off yourself. You never do that.”
    Brin’s pulse was deafening. “To get me,” he said hoarsely. “You came out to … take me from the orcs.”
    Farideh’s odd eyes settled back on him, and she nodded hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you feeling better?”
    Havilar bent down and looked at Brin. “You look pale. Are you sure he’s not dying?”
    “Ignore her,” Farideh said. “You don’t seem to be bleeding anywhere, so it’s likely a little bit of shock. Which having a blade waved in your face doesn’t help.”
    Havilar made a disgruntled little noise and pulled her glaive back. “Worrywart.”
    “Show-off,” Farideh muttered.
    “
I’m
the show off? You’re the one slinging magic all around like it was pebbles. What’s that thing? That thing with the fire?”
    “A fire bolt.”
    “You did a
fire bolt
on an
orc
. A
wounded
orc.” Havilar put a hand on her hip. “That is the very definition of a show-off. Mehen told you to stay back.”
    “Says the girl who managed to work a little twirl into every one of her attacks. You know Mehen’s going to tell you off for that.”
    “
Thrik-ukris
!” a man’s voice bellowed, and both girls shut their mouths.
    Striding toward them was the enormous scaled man—no, not a man. Brin remembered now: dragonborn.
    He had seen dragonborn come to the temple of Torm once, and once before that in the markets of Suzail. They were fierce, disciplined fighters, new to the world of Faerûn—new, anyway, since the BlueFire had remade things a hundred years ago. This far north, they were few and far between indeed.
    “What in all the depths and heights of the planes around was
that
!” The dragonborn man’s features were fearsome even though his movements were sure and calm.