Read Online Brayan's Gold by Peter V. Brett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter V. Brett
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light his way, but also serving as a beacon to the snow demon and any other corelings that might be in the area. He stumbled through the snow, using the downward slope to add reckless speed to his flight.
But in the end, it was not enough. His legs sank into the loose snow, but the snow demon ran across its surface like a bug skating on water. He felt it hit his back, knocking the wind from him and bearing him to the ground.
Arlen rolled with the impact, shaking the demon off before it could find a seam in his armor, but he had barely rolled onto his back before it was upon him again. He put up his armored forearm to hold it back, and the demon caught the thick steel plate in its teeth and began to squeeze.
Metal squealed and bent, and though his arm was still numbed by the coldspit, Arlen howled in agony. The demon’s talons raked at him, tearing easily through the steel mesh at his joints, and piercing the larger plates like blacksmith shears.
Arlen felt the cold claws pierce his flesh, like being stabbed with icicles, and screamed into the night. The demon thrashed its head from side to side, teeth still clamped, threatening to tear his arm clear out of the socket. Blood spattered his face from the injured limb.
But in that instant, sure of his own death, Arlen caught sight of the demon’s bare belly, smooth like new snow, and saw a chance. With the fingers of his free hand he caught a swab of his own blood and reached out, drawing a crude heat ward on the snow demon’s stomach.
Immediately, the ward flared, brighter and more powerful than any he had seen at the station. Those wards were powered by feedback alone, but this ward drew on the coreling’s dark magic directly. Arlen felt his face burn from its power.
The demon shrieked and let go its grip, and Arlen shoved it away. It landed on its back, and Arlen saw his blood ward blacken the white scales, then burst into a flame that consumed the demon like sunlight. He was left panting in the snow, bloodied and torn, but very much alive as he watched the thrashing snow demon immolated in fire.
He stumbled quickly back to the campsite, breathing a great sigh of relief when he was once again within the safety of his circles. He needed a prybar to get some of the pieces of his armor off, but there was no choice, as the twisted metal cut off his blood flow in more than one place, and cut into his skin in others. He lit the fire he had wisely laid in advance, and spent the rest of the night huddled by it, trying to restore feeling to his arm as he stitched his flesh.
Feeling slowly returned to his numb arm, bringing with it a maddening pain as if he had been burned. But through it all, he was smiling. He hadn’t killed the demon he set out to, but he had killed one nonetheless, and that was more than anyone he had ever known could claim. Arlen welcomed the pain, for it meant he was alive when he had no right to be.
Arlen led Dawn Runner down the steep trails the next morning, happy to walk and keep his blood pumping. Late in the day, there came a cry behind him.
“Messenger!”
Arlen turned to see Derek running hard after him. He stopped and the keeper soon caught up, stumbling to a stop. Arlen caught him with his good arm and set him to hang on Dawn Runner’s saddle, red-faced and panting. His eye was blue and swollen where Arlen had punched him.
“You’re a long way from the station,” Arlen said, when the keeper caught his breath.
“Whole mountain heard those thundersticks in the night, and the slide that followed,” Derek said. “I took my skis and went looking for you.”
“Why?” Arlen asked.
Derek shrugged. “Figured either you were dead, and I should try and send your bones to your mother, or alive, and needing some help. You ent my favorite person, Messenger, but anyone deserves that much.”
“That would have taken you to the site of the avalanche, six hours back,” Arlen said, “where you would have seen my tracks, and known I was
But in the end, it was not enough. His legs sank into the loose snow, but the snow demon ran across its surface like a bug skating on water. He felt it hit his back, knocking the wind from him and bearing him to the ground.
Arlen rolled with the impact, shaking the demon off before it could find a seam in his armor, but he had barely rolled onto his back before it was upon him again. He put up his armored forearm to hold it back, and the demon caught the thick steel plate in its teeth and began to squeeze.
Metal squealed and bent, and though his arm was still numbed by the coldspit, Arlen howled in agony. The demon’s talons raked at him, tearing easily through the steel mesh at his joints, and piercing the larger plates like blacksmith shears.
Arlen felt the cold claws pierce his flesh, like being stabbed with icicles, and screamed into the night. The demon thrashed its head from side to side, teeth still clamped, threatening to tear his arm clear out of the socket. Blood spattered his face from the injured limb.
But in that instant, sure of his own death, Arlen caught sight of the demon’s bare belly, smooth like new snow, and saw a chance. With the fingers of his free hand he caught a swab of his own blood and reached out, drawing a crude heat ward on the snow demon’s stomach.
Immediately, the ward flared, brighter and more powerful than any he had seen at the station. Those wards were powered by feedback alone, but this ward drew on the coreling’s dark magic directly. Arlen felt his face burn from its power.
The demon shrieked and let go its grip, and Arlen shoved it away. It landed on its back, and Arlen saw his blood ward blacken the white scales, then burst into a flame that consumed the demon like sunlight. He was left panting in the snow, bloodied and torn, but very much alive as he watched the thrashing snow demon immolated in fire.
He stumbled quickly back to the campsite, breathing a great sigh of relief when he was once again within the safety of his circles. He needed a prybar to get some of the pieces of his armor off, but there was no choice, as the twisted metal cut off his blood flow in more than one place, and cut into his skin in others. He lit the fire he had wisely laid in advance, and spent the rest of the night huddled by it, trying to restore feeling to his arm as he stitched his flesh.
Feeling slowly returned to his numb arm, bringing with it a maddening pain as if he had been burned. But through it all, he was smiling. He hadn’t killed the demon he set out to, but he had killed one nonetheless, and that was more than anyone he had ever known could claim. Arlen welcomed the pain, for it meant he was alive when he had no right to be.
Arlen led Dawn Runner down the steep trails the next morning, happy to walk and keep his blood pumping. Late in the day, there came a cry behind him.
“Messenger!”
Arlen turned to see Derek running hard after him. He stopped and the keeper soon caught up, stumbling to a stop. Arlen caught him with his good arm and set him to hang on Dawn Runner’s saddle, red-faced and panting. His eye was blue and swollen where Arlen had punched him.
“You’re a long way from the station,” Arlen said, when the keeper caught his breath.
“Whole mountain heard those thundersticks in the night, and the slide that followed,” Derek said. “I took my skis and went looking for you.”
“Why?” Arlen asked.
Derek shrugged. “Figured either you were dead, and I should try and send your bones to your mother, or alive, and needing some help. You ent my favorite person, Messenger, but anyone deserves that much.”
“That would have taken you to the site of the avalanche, six hours back,” Arlen said, “where you would have seen my tracks, and known I was
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