One second I had my hands inside a dying man in a Pittsburgh trauma bay. The next, the patient was a woman, the wound was a halberd through the thigh and the bracer on my wrist told me the save had just leveled my Triage to two.
I had six years in the ER and two tours as an Army medic before that. But this new world sorts its magic into divine and profane and nothing else. The problem is, mine is neither and just keeps leveling. It's turning a trauma nurse into the one thing a mercenary company on a death-contract can't afford to lose: the man who drags you back from the wound that was supposed to kill you.
So they keep me close. And three of them keep me closer. One holds the line alone, calls me hers in front of the whole company, and breaks fingers when men forget it. The other decided I was hers the first time she watched me work, and tracks every rival like a hawk. And the last barely speaks, reaches the bodies first, and those who get too close to me have a way of turning up among them.
We're hunting an apostate who carves travelers into a working that won't let them die. And the Witch Hunters on his trail burn whole villages just to be sure, then turn on anything they don't understand. Like me.
Every wound I close levels me higher. And by the time the Chantry, the Colleges, and the Hunters can agree on a name for what I'm becoming, the three who've claimed me will have made damn sure it's too late to stop me.
Genre: Fantasy
I had six years in the ER and two tours as an Army medic before that. But this new world sorts its magic into divine and profane and nothing else. The problem is, mine is neither and just keeps leveling. It's turning a trauma nurse into the one thing a mercenary company on a death-contract can't afford to lose: the man who drags you back from the wound that was supposed to kill you.
So they keep me close. And three of them keep me closer. One holds the line alone, calls me hers in front of the whole company, and breaks fingers when men forget it. The other decided I was hers the first time she watched me work, and tracks every rival like a hawk. And the last barely speaks, reaches the bodies first, and those who get too close to me have a way of turning up among them.
We're hunting an apostate who carves travelers into a working that won't let them die. And the Witch Hunters on his trail burn whole villages just to be sure, then turn on anything they don't understand. Like me.
Every wound I close levels me higher. And by the time the Chantry, the Colleges, and the Hunters can agree on a name for what I'm becoming, the three who've claimed me will have made damn sure it's too late to stop me.
Genre: Fantasy
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