Read Online Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) by David Hair - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Hair
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writhing athletically down the ropes – ‘these six will serve you, Lord Emir, for the period of this war, and if any fall, they will be replaced.’
Elena couldn’t quite hide her wince, though she had helped broker the deal; six males was a significant number for the lamiae, for the tribe numbered barely sixty, and that included the females and children.
By now everyone in the keep had found a perch to watch, and as it became apparent that the six lamiae were going to stay, eyes widened with wonder and excitement and they scarcely noticed the baggage being hoisted into the windship.
Elena went down on one knee to Mekmud and let him draw her back to her feet and kiss both her cheeks in farewell. ‘They are swift learners,’ she reassured him. ‘They’ll pick up your tongue very quickly. They do have the gnosis – it’s part of their very being and they use it instinctively – but they don’t have the deep training of a Rondian mage, nor experience in war. Use them sparingly, I beg you.’
‘I cannot protect them from all danger, Alhana,’ the emir replied, ‘but I believe Gyle will leave once he learns that you’ve gone. I shall then retake my city, and afterwards harass the Rondians as I can.’
She clasped his hands. ‘You have our sincere thanks. Once we’ve made Forensa, I’ll be in contact.’
‘Sal’Ahm, Alhana. I will instruct the Godsingers to offer up prayers to you.’
She laughed. ‘I doubt an Amteh cleric will ever pray for a heathen mage, my lord!’
‘They’ll do what I tell them,’ Mekmud bristled.
No doubt they will, if they know what’s best for them. She bowed in thanks again.
Timori led the way up the rope ladders, moving with all the gangly fearlessness of a child. His sister followed more awkwardly, and Elena and Kazim brought up the rear. Kazim signalled they were all safely aboard and lamiae rushed to loose the anchor ropes and hoist the sails as one of their number released energy from the keel and sent the craft into the air again.
As the emir and his men raised their arms in farewell, the windship turned majestically and set sail for the east, and Forensa.
Lybis, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia
Rami (Septinon) 929
15 th month of the Moontide
Gurvon Gyle slouched on the Emir of Lybis’ ornate but deeply uncomfortable throne at the head of a long council table. He drained his wine goblet, then crushed it in a gnosis-strengthened hand. It was pewter, but dipped in gold, beautifully engraved with hunting scenes and decorated with gems, a rare and valuable piece – but right now he didn’t give a rukking shit about that. ‘You’re telling me they’ve escaped the Kiskale?’
The soot-stained, battered and bruised young mage standing before him cringed. He’d flown the ten miles from the Kiskale to Lybis on Air-gnosis after his skiff was shot from the skies, and he was almost out on his feet. ‘It was an Inquisition ship . . . we thought they were friends . . .’
‘We don’t have any bloody friends in the Kore-bedamned Inquisition!’ Gyle erupted. ‘We’re mercenaries , you rukking imbecile ! What on Urte possessed the two of you to pull alongside and blow kisses to them?’
The pilot glanced at his captain, Endus Rykjard, but got no sign of support. He hung his head, as well he might: they’d lost not just his fellow wind-pilot, but two valuable skiffs to that piece of stupidity.
‘Sir, I’m sorry – I won’t . . . I mean, I’ll be more . . .’
‘Get out!’ Gurvon bellowed. ‘Before I throw you out the window!’
The pilot fled to the sound of sniggers from Rutt Sordell, the other man in the room. Rutt had always enjoyed seeing bright young mages being put in their place.
Gurvon was becoming sick of Rutt’s bitterness. The Argundian complained incessantly that his senses were failing. That was the price of no longer being a full human: the real Rutt Sordell was a Necromantic scarab burrowed into Guy Lassaigne’s head,
Elena couldn’t quite hide her wince, though she had helped broker the deal; six males was a significant number for the lamiae, for the tribe numbered barely sixty, and that included the females and children.
By now everyone in the keep had found a perch to watch, and as it became apparent that the six lamiae were going to stay, eyes widened with wonder and excitement and they scarcely noticed the baggage being hoisted into the windship.
Elena went down on one knee to Mekmud and let him draw her back to her feet and kiss both her cheeks in farewell. ‘They are swift learners,’ she reassured him. ‘They’ll pick up your tongue very quickly. They do have the gnosis – it’s part of their very being and they use it instinctively – but they don’t have the deep training of a Rondian mage, nor experience in war. Use them sparingly, I beg you.’
‘I cannot protect them from all danger, Alhana,’ the emir replied, ‘but I believe Gyle will leave once he learns that you’ve gone. I shall then retake my city, and afterwards harass the Rondians as I can.’
She clasped his hands. ‘You have our sincere thanks. Once we’ve made Forensa, I’ll be in contact.’
‘Sal’Ahm, Alhana. I will instruct the Godsingers to offer up prayers to you.’
She laughed. ‘I doubt an Amteh cleric will ever pray for a heathen mage, my lord!’
‘They’ll do what I tell them,’ Mekmud bristled.
No doubt they will, if they know what’s best for them. She bowed in thanks again.
Timori led the way up the rope ladders, moving with all the gangly fearlessness of a child. His sister followed more awkwardly, and Elena and Kazim brought up the rear. Kazim signalled they were all safely aboard and lamiae rushed to loose the anchor ropes and hoist the sails as one of their number released energy from the keel and sent the craft into the air again.
As the emir and his men raised their arms in farewell, the windship turned majestically and set sail for the east, and Forensa.
Lybis, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia
Rami (Septinon) 929
15 th month of the Moontide
Gurvon Gyle slouched on the Emir of Lybis’ ornate but deeply uncomfortable throne at the head of a long council table. He drained his wine goblet, then crushed it in a gnosis-strengthened hand. It was pewter, but dipped in gold, beautifully engraved with hunting scenes and decorated with gems, a rare and valuable piece – but right now he didn’t give a rukking shit about that. ‘You’re telling me they’ve escaped the Kiskale?’
The soot-stained, battered and bruised young mage standing before him cringed. He’d flown the ten miles from the Kiskale to Lybis on Air-gnosis after his skiff was shot from the skies, and he was almost out on his feet. ‘It was an Inquisition ship . . . we thought they were friends . . .’
‘We don’t have any bloody friends in the Kore-bedamned Inquisition!’ Gyle erupted. ‘We’re mercenaries , you rukking imbecile ! What on Urte possessed the two of you to pull alongside and blow kisses to them?’
The pilot glanced at his captain, Endus Rykjard, but got no sign of support. He hung his head, as well he might: they’d lost not just his fellow wind-pilot, but two valuable skiffs to that piece of stupidity.
‘Sir, I’m sorry – I won’t . . . I mean, I’ll be more . . .’
‘Get out!’ Gurvon bellowed. ‘Before I throw you out the window!’
The pilot fled to the sound of sniggers from Rutt Sordell, the other man in the room. Rutt had always enjoyed seeing bright young mages being put in their place.
Gurvon was becoming sick of Rutt’s bitterness. The Argundian complained incessantly that his senses were failing. That was the price of no longer being a full human: the real Rutt Sordell was a Necromantic scarab burrowed into Guy Lassaigne’s head,
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