Twixt Heaven And Hell by Tristan Gregory Read Free Book Online

the prospect of joining the Gryphons, and eager as a pup. Robert hoped the man had looked beyond the prestige and seen the grueling pace they set on the march, and the long, long months they spent away from the comforts of Bastion.
    Robert pointed to another man, somewhat older than the others – obviously a veteran in his own right.
    “Name?” Robert asked.
    “Lawrence,” the man replied, stepping forward and hefting his wooden training blade. The thick ash swords were actually heavier than a real blade, having been soaked in oils during their creation to keep them from growing brittle.
    Robert did not waste time saluting, but immediately launched his first attack with a stab to the midsection – though some of the surprise was lost to the fact that Lawrence had no doubt seen Robert do the same with some of the men before him.
    Lawrence was ready. He did not bother blocking, but rather sidestepped and raised his own blade in an upward arc that would have deprived Robert of both his sword and his hand, had it connected.
    Blow was followed by counter, parry by riposte. Robert tested Lawrence’s abilities as he had the others'. The man was not as fast as Robert, nor as large, but was obviously well experienced in swordplay. Robert switched his stance and instead of dancing about the man – which, Robert was loath to admit, was tiring him as well – he went at him with powerful strokes meant to overpower the old soldier.
    Perhaps Robert overcompensated for his fatigue, or perhaps he had overestimated the man – or neither, or both. Lawrence was not able to duck beneath Robert’s 'beheading' stroke in time.
    Wood met skull with a sickening crack , and Lawrence fell bonelessly to the ground at Robert’s feet.
    In battle Robert would have felt a moment of exultation, and then gone on to the next foe in sight. Instead he felt a wave of nausea, and immediately dropped to his knees besides the fallen man. Lawrence’s neck was bent at an odd angle from the fall, and his eyes were open and staring emptily at the sky as blood leaked from the rent skin on his forehead. Even as Robert knelt, a glassiness was coming over those eyes that he knew too well.
    His hands hovering over the man’s neck but not daring to touch, Robert instead looked up into the sky and shouted at the top of his lungs.
    “Aid! Aid!”
    The other soldiers took up the shout as if it were a battle cry, and before long the entire enclosure was filled with men shouting that one word and looking to the sky.
    Close by, powerful wings beat and a light shot into the air, arcing towards the soldiers gathered around their fallen comrade. It landed without raising so much as a speck of dust, and a gray-robed Angel strode towards Robert and Lawrence, wings still fluttering from the short flight. It knelt at Lawrence’s side and, cradling his head in one gloved hand, it gently brushed the other hand down the soldier’s forehead where the blow had landed, and then again down his neck.
    Blood ceased to flow, and color returned to the skin. The emptiness that had grown so quickly in the man’s eyes likewise faded and Lawrence looked about himself as he drew breath again.
    The Angel stood, still holding Lawrence, and gently set him on his feet. It pressed one gloved hand against the other in front of its chest and bowed its shrouded head to the healed soldier. No face showed beneath the hood, only the soft light. Lawrence bowed back, as did Robert. Not a word was spoken.
    The nameless savior leaped back into the air, returning to the infirmary to await the need that would again call it to its healing work. The gathered soldiers shook off their awe, and one by one left off staring at their restored comrade, returning to their own business.
    Lawrence looked quizzically at Robert. “Did I miss something, sir?” he asked. He had no doubt pieced together the events even if he didn’t remember the moments leading up to his near-fatal injury. You rarely did, Robert