Read Online Ahriman: Exile by John French - Free Book Online Page A

them on a god’s wings. The pressure in his head exploded and for a blink the chamber vanished…
    … and the raven laughed, and the ground spiralled beneath him as he rose into the red sun…
    Reality blinked back into place. Tolbek was charging, sword rising in a glowing crescent. At the chamber door the two Harrowing guards had started forwards. Maroth gasped, shaking where he stood, and Ahriman could taste the fear fuming from him in black clouds. Ahriman reshaped his thoughts and the fire storm enveloped Tolbek. Tolbek was burning, his robes charring, his armour glowing with heat. Tolbek spoke a word and the flame sucked into his body like water draining into sand.
    Gzrel was fast, despite his bulk. His claws reached for Ahriman, lightning coating their tips. Ahriman turned to look at Gzrel and the claws sparked across a wall of invisible force.
    The Harrowing initiate on Gzrel’s right began to move, his thoughts a feral babble of instinct and rage. A part of Ahriman’s mind locked around the champion’s thoughts and squeezed. The champion began to spasm…
    …‘Higher, higher,’ called the raven, and he could feel the heat of the red sun on his body as the ground vanished beneath him…
    One of the Harrowing by the door fired. The bolt-round skimmed Tolbek’s shoulder and exploded. He did not stop moving. Ahriman heard the telepathic command flick from Tolbek’s mind, and saw the light in the eyes of the two Rubricae flicker. They turned towards the door and fired. The bolt shells glowed as they burrowed through the air and hit the Harrowing guard. Suddenly there was blood splattering the floor. The guard screamed, blue flames spreading across his body from his shattered chest. The Rubricae fired again and fire swallowed the second guard’s head. Ahriman could feel the hunger in the flames as they burned the guards to grey ash.
    Gzrel’s claws raked across Ahriman’s kine-shield, each blow shaking the sorcerer’s focus. He turned and looked at Gzrel, seeing the pulsing blood flowing beneath armour and flesh. Warp-twisted molecules spun in the dark liquid. Ahriman broke their bonds with a thought. Gzrel began to shake, then to howl. He scrabbled at the air, claws trailing blue sparks. His face bloated, black blood boiling from his mouth. The vents in his armour coughed and vomited foul liquid. The flesh sloughed from his face, but his skull continued to scream as he fell.
    Cottadaron finally reacted. The twisted sorcerer sent a forked tongue of black lightning from his hand which cut through Ahriman’s kine-shield with a detonation of unlight. Pain bored into him, running up his nerves and across his skin. For an instant his focus almost slipped. He had misjudged Cottadaron; he would not make that mistake twice. Just behind Cottadaron the remaining Harrowing initiate was convulsing on the floor. Ahriman still held the warrior’s mind in his own, and he willed the other to rise. The effort made him shake and he felt a cry rising to his own lips. The champion came to his feet, swayed, and cut Cottadaron’s head from his shoulders. Ahriman ripped his mind out of the champion’s, and then the lifeless body was falling.
    Tolbek took another pace closer, and all Ahriman could see was red, the red of death, the red of a bloated sun…
    …the sun filled the sky. The ground was a memory forgotten beneath his feet. The raven was a silhouette of shadows against the sun. ‘Look,’ said the raven…
    Tolbek was three strides from Ahriman, footsteps scattering blood drops from the floor. The sword in his hand was blue with heat. Arcs of lightning crackled across his scorched armour.
    Ahriman was dimly aware of Maroth, still alive, cowering behind the throne. He reached out with his own mind, felt the soothsayer’s psyche like a cracked sphere in his mind’s grip. He squeezed and somewhere he heard Maroth shriek.
    Pain filled Ahriman, sudden and bright. It felt as if a door long shut in his soul were straining at