Cutter grunted. “Just about.” He turned to Maeve, saw the woman studying the mage from behind, wondered briefly if either of them knew just how much they cared for each other. “Alright, Maeve?”
The woman started as if surprised, turning away from studying the mage with an embarrassed expression on her face. “I’m fine,” she said. “Well. Still breathing anyway.”
He nodded, looking to Priest. The man nodded at him, the simple gesture and his expression carrying a world of meaning for all the pain and suffering they had witnessed in the last two days.
“Cutter?”
He turned to look at Matt. “You’re okay?”
The youth opened his mouth as if to answer, then paused as his face twisted with emotion before clearing his throat. “I…I think so. But…the woman, the one Chall made appear…who was she?”
Cutter glanced at Chall, and the mage winced. “He’s thought of little else.”
Cutter nodded, turning back to the boy. “She was the greatest person I have ever met,” he said simply, “the kindest, wisest person this world has ever seen. And, lad, she was your mother.”
The youth’s breath caught in his throat at that, and he gave a single nod. “I…I thought maybe she was.” There was a moment of silence then as Matt visibly gathered himself, then let out a ragged sigh. “So…is that it? I mean…is it finished?”
Cutter looked over at Maeve and the others, all watching him. “No,” he said finally, “not finished, lad. It’s only just beginning.”
Now, dear reader, we have come to the end of A Warrior’s Burden. It is my sincere hope that you enjoyed your first foray into the Known Lands, but there is more to come, so keep an eye out for book two.
In the meantime, are you looking for something else to read? Don’t worry—I’ve got you covered.
Want another story of an anti-hero in a grimdark setting where a jaded sellsword is forced into a fight he doesn’t want between forces he doesn’t understand?
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Interested in a story where the gods choose their champions in a war with the darkness that will determine the fate of the world itself?
Click here to get started on The Nightfall Wars, a complete six book, epic fantasy series.
Or how about something a little lighter? Do you like laughs with your sword slinging and magical mayhem? All the world’s heroes are dead and so it is up to the antiheroes to save the day. An overweight swordsman, a mage who thinks magic is for sissies, an assassin who gets sick at the sight of the blood, and a man who can speak to animals…maybe.
The world needed heroes—it got them instead.
Start your journey with The Antiheroes by clicking here!
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About the Author
Jacob Peppers lives in Georgia with his wife, his son, Gabriel, newborn daughter, Norah, and three dogs. He is an avid reader and writer and when he’s not exploring the worlds of others, he’s creating his own. His short fiction has been published in various markets, and his short story, “The Lies of Autumn,” was a finalist for the 2013 Eric Hoffer Award for Short Prose. He is the author of the bestselling epic fantasy series The Seven Virtues and The Nightfall Wars.
Note from the Author
And this, dear reader, brings us to the end of A Warrior’s Burden. I will not say it was an easy journey, but it is my sincere hope that you enjoyed it. And while this first part of our travels is finished, there is much more awaiting us, awaiting Cutter and Maeve, Chall and Priest and, of course, Matt.
The Fey stir restlessly in the alien darkness of the Black Wood, thirsting for revenge, and Prince Feledias will not so easily cast aside his own quest for blood. After all, a man might try to forget his past—much as Cutter did—but his past will never forget him. It follows him, like a shadow, trailing in his wake. And sometimes that past, that shadow, has teeth.
Yet while a man can never escape his past, the future lies in wait, a path not yet taken, and wherever it might lead, at least Cutter will have his friends with him. And maybe, just maybe, they will even be enough.
I want to take this opportunity to thank all of those people—and there are many—without whom this book would have never been finished or, if it was, would have been far worse.
Thank you, first, to my wonderful wife, Andrea, who attends to the needs of this world so that I can traipse lackadaisically around in others that aren’t, strictly speaking, real. Thank you, also, to my friends and family, mostly for not murdering me when having to hear again and again of this plot point or that one. You all endured my droning with a good humor—and steady restraint—that was nothing short of inspiring.
I would also like to thank my beta
