Read Online Brother Thief (Song of the Aura, Book One) by Gregory J. Downs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gregory J. Downs
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blasted sands below, of course… always from up here, where-
SO. It was one word, but it froze his mind with terror and awe, stopping his thoughts and catching his body in place like an invisible vise.
“Master…” he whispered. It was painful to speak- the vise of the Golden One’s will held his chest tighter than iron chains.
TURN, AND LOOK ON MY FACE.
Shuddering with fear and a sickening, thrilling sense of expectation, Gramling forced himself to turn from the edge of the cliff to look at the mountain peak behind him. There stood the Golden One, robed in the colors of blood and night, his face shadowed by a dark mantle.
“My Master,” whimpered Gramling, and fell on his face. The world was deathly silent. The Golden One’s presence blotted out all sound but his own footfalls as he came nearer. The sound was like the strikes of a ram on broken gates.
LOOK ON MY FACE.
The will of his master was simply too strong. Torn between fear and awe, horror and reverence, Gramling raised his head and looked into the shadowy depths of his master’s hood.
YOU LOOK WITHOUT SEEING.
The voice that thundered in his head was like the sound of a thousand deaths; corpses with weapons and empty eyes full of hate. Then the hood was rolled back, and Gramling saw .
The Golden One did not bear his name without reason. His head was like that of a man’s, bulbous and hard, with skin the color of dusty gold. It seemed stretched, as if there was not enough flesh to cover the skull beneath. There was no hair on his head, but a thinning mustache and beard drooped down to his collar. His eyes burned with an inner fire that shook Gramling like a leaf, stifling his mind and throwing his body into convulsions: yet he found he could not look away, no matter how hard he tried.
TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.
“I… I…” Gramling swallowed his fear like so much rotten fruit, forcing himself to claw his way into a kneeling, then standing position. “I have failed, O Golden One.”
Then, word by choking word, he forced himself to tell the tale. As he spoke, the fear drained from him with astonishing quickness, almost causing him to pause. The more he spoke, the less he felt . At the end of his tale, his mind was blank and his heart was dry. He was not afraid or angry or sad or confused. He just was. He existed, and that was all. And all along, his master looked on.
Finally he had finished, and the Golden One had not spoken once. The fiery eyes had been reduced to smoldering coals in the golden void of his face, and his ebony mantle once more enshrouded his features. The fire in him seemed to have died, but the darkness that was his Power had grown.
After an eternity, the Golden One spoke.
FIND THE SAND STRIDER.
HE IS WORTH MORE THAN YOU KNOW, DEAD OR ALIVE.
TO DO THIS, YOU MUST SUMMON OUR ALLIES: THE DRAIKS OF BLAST.
KEEP ONLY ONE FOR YOUR USE.
OUR PLANS MUST BE ACCELERATED.
USE THE OTHERS TO START A WAR.
The torrent of commands left Gramling broken and shuddering, but in the end he was still alive and very ready to begin the next stage in the grand chase that was sure to follow. His muscles screamed with sudden, ensorcelled energy, and his mind felt clearer and sharper than it had in all his short, dark years of life. He could manage but one response.
“Yes, Master.”
NOW GO.
The last order to pass the unmoving lips of the Golden One filled Gramling’s veins with a fire that would not abate. The Pit Strider’s neck stiffened and his back arched in expectation so intense and painful that he slipped down onto one knee, his radiant face turned towards the rocky ground in utter submission. The last sensation to pass his ears was the Golden One’s echoing, haunting laughter. Gramling had never heard him
SO. It was one word, but it froze his mind with terror and awe, stopping his thoughts and catching his body in place like an invisible vise.
“Master…” he whispered. It was painful to speak- the vise of the Golden One’s will held his chest tighter than iron chains.
TURN, AND LOOK ON MY FACE.
Shuddering with fear and a sickening, thrilling sense of expectation, Gramling forced himself to turn from the edge of the cliff to look at the mountain peak behind him. There stood the Golden One, robed in the colors of blood and night, his face shadowed by a dark mantle.
“My Master,” whimpered Gramling, and fell on his face. The world was deathly silent. The Golden One’s presence blotted out all sound but his own footfalls as he came nearer. The sound was like the strikes of a ram on broken gates.
LOOK ON MY FACE.
The will of his master was simply too strong. Torn between fear and awe, horror and reverence, Gramling raised his head and looked into the shadowy depths of his master’s hood.
YOU LOOK WITHOUT SEEING.
The voice that thundered in his head was like the sound of a thousand deaths; corpses with weapons and empty eyes full of hate. Then the hood was rolled back, and Gramling saw .
The Golden One did not bear his name without reason. His head was like that of a man’s, bulbous and hard, with skin the color of dusty gold. It seemed stretched, as if there was not enough flesh to cover the skull beneath. There was no hair on his head, but a thinning mustache and beard drooped down to his collar. His eyes burned with an inner fire that shook Gramling like a leaf, stifling his mind and throwing his body into convulsions: yet he found he could not look away, no matter how hard he tried.
TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.
“I… I…” Gramling swallowed his fear like so much rotten fruit, forcing himself to claw his way into a kneeling, then standing position. “I have failed, O Golden One.”
Then, word by choking word, he forced himself to tell the tale. As he spoke, the fear drained from him with astonishing quickness, almost causing him to pause. The more he spoke, the less he felt . At the end of his tale, his mind was blank and his heart was dry. He was not afraid or angry or sad or confused. He just was. He existed, and that was all. And all along, his master looked on.
Finally he had finished, and the Golden One had not spoken once. The fiery eyes had been reduced to smoldering coals in the golden void of his face, and his ebony mantle once more enshrouded his features. The fire in him seemed to have died, but the darkness that was his Power had grown.
After an eternity, the Golden One spoke.
FIND THE SAND STRIDER.
HE IS WORTH MORE THAN YOU KNOW, DEAD OR ALIVE.
TO DO THIS, YOU MUST SUMMON OUR ALLIES: THE DRAIKS OF BLAST.
KEEP ONLY ONE FOR YOUR USE.
OUR PLANS MUST BE ACCELERATED.
USE THE OTHERS TO START A WAR.
The torrent of commands left Gramling broken and shuddering, but in the end he was still alive and very ready to begin the next stage in the grand chase that was sure to follow. His muscles screamed with sudden, ensorcelled energy, and his mind felt clearer and sharper than it had in all his short, dark years of life. He could manage but one response.
“Yes, Master.”
NOW GO.
The last order to pass the unmoving lips of the Golden One filled Gramling’s veins with a fire that would not abate. The Pit Strider’s neck stiffened and his back arched in expectation so intense and painful that he slipped down onto one knee, his radiant face turned towards the rocky ground in utter submission. The last sensation to pass his ears was the Golden One’s echoing, haunting laughter. Gramling had never heard him
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