Read Online Celadonian Tales Vol: 1 Blood and Brass by Walter Shuler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Walter Shuler
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room. It was what that light showed that locked Bran in place.
A large oval of stone stood in the center of the room, directly under the falling sunlight. Within that oval was a darkness blacker than anything Bran had ever seen. Davin stood before the structure, wearing his sword and court finery. It took a moment for him to see that within the blackness, shapes moved – murky and indistinct, like a ghost or half-remembered memory. It took Bran another moment to realize that his brother was speaking.
"All the pieces are in place now. Tell me again how this will end?" Davin asked, his voice muddied, like someone speaking from the depths of a dream. Something tugged at Bran; there was something horribly familiar about the scene before him.
Davin cocked his head to the side, as though listening to a voice that only he could hear. Within the blackness, the shapes writhed faster, agitated. Davin laughed suddenly, head thrown back.
"So, little brother, you've found your way out of your imprisonment!" Davin turned. Bran was shocked to see the changes in his brother. His eyes were too bright, feverish. His face was thinner, too, as though some inner fire had burned all the meat from beneath his flesh. The falling sunlight illuminated Davin's face harshly – black shadows pooled in the hollows of his cheeks. But above all stood those mad, blazing eyes.
"Come, little brother! I'm sure there are things you wish to know," Davin urged, gesturing for Bran to come forward. His voice was warm, but Bran knew that affection cloaked dark intentions. He tightened his grip on his sword and stepped forward.
"What madness is this, Davin?" he asked.
"Madness? This is no madness, Bran! It is power!"
"What need have you of more power, brother? Surely, the kingship is sufficient?"
Davin shook his head, his expression sad, that of an older, wiser man distraught by the ignorance and foolishness of others. "So many threats, Bran...you cannot imagine how precarious our position is!"
Davin half turned away, gesturing broadly. "Great Süt stands almost ready to threaten our western borders, brother. Blackspire has conspired with the northern barbarians too; their threat could destroy the whole of Celadon! I've seen other, darker threats, too, Bran. I must have the power to defeat those threats!"
Bran stepped forward again, slowly closing the distance between himself and his mad brother. He was convinced that Davin was mad – there was no other explanation.
"And how does my death help protect Celadon, Davin?"
"Ah, there's the rub, isn't it?" Davin laughed, though there was something heavy in the sound. "Sometimes... There are always sacrifices, Bran. Great men never achieve great deeds without sacrifice."
"Mother and Father? Was Imelda your sacrifice? Will my death further your power?" Bran felt each individual wire on the sword's hilt biting into his flesh with the force of his grip.
"Yes," Davin's voice had gone soft, his head bowed slightly. "Yes, all these deaths serve a purpose. Don't you see? Without blood, there can be no power and without power, there is no defense against the coming darkness!" At the end, Davin's voice regained its feverish power. He turned and Bran was struck once again by what he saw written on his brother's face.
It was then that Bran realized the swirling, indistinct shapes behind his brother had changed. They had coalesced into something new. The figure of a powerfully built man stood in the blackness now, his face angular, yet hauntingly beautiful. The man wore ancient armor, but bore no weapon that Bran could see. Long black hair fell to his shoulders and his eyes glittered cold, chips of obsidian in his alabaster face. The man smiled like a wolf and Bran felt his heart hammer hard in his chest. He knew that face from somewhere – it was all so damnably familiar, yet impossible to place.
Davin followed his brother's gaze and frowned. "What do you see, brother? The Mirror shows something different to
A large oval of stone stood in the center of the room, directly under the falling sunlight. Within that oval was a darkness blacker than anything Bran had ever seen. Davin stood before the structure, wearing his sword and court finery. It took a moment for him to see that within the blackness, shapes moved – murky and indistinct, like a ghost or half-remembered memory. It took Bran another moment to realize that his brother was speaking.
"All the pieces are in place now. Tell me again how this will end?" Davin asked, his voice muddied, like someone speaking from the depths of a dream. Something tugged at Bran; there was something horribly familiar about the scene before him.
Davin cocked his head to the side, as though listening to a voice that only he could hear. Within the blackness, the shapes writhed faster, agitated. Davin laughed suddenly, head thrown back.
"So, little brother, you've found your way out of your imprisonment!" Davin turned. Bran was shocked to see the changes in his brother. His eyes were too bright, feverish. His face was thinner, too, as though some inner fire had burned all the meat from beneath his flesh. The falling sunlight illuminated Davin's face harshly – black shadows pooled in the hollows of his cheeks. But above all stood those mad, blazing eyes.
"Come, little brother! I'm sure there are things you wish to know," Davin urged, gesturing for Bran to come forward. His voice was warm, but Bran knew that affection cloaked dark intentions. He tightened his grip on his sword and stepped forward.
"What madness is this, Davin?" he asked.
"Madness? This is no madness, Bran! It is power!"
"What need have you of more power, brother? Surely, the kingship is sufficient?"
Davin shook his head, his expression sad, that of an older, wiser man distraught by the ignorance and foolishness of others. "So many threats, Bran...you cannot imagine how precarious our position is!"
Davin half turned away, gesturing broadly. "Great Süt stands almost ready to threaten our western borders, brother. Blackspire has conspired with the northern barbarians too; their threat could destroy the whole of Celadon! I've seen other, darker threats, too, Bran. I must have the power to defeat those threats!"
Bran stepped forward again, slowly closing the distance between himself and his mad brother. He was convinced that Davin was mad – there was no other explanation.
"And how does my death help protect Celadon, Davin?"
"Ah, there's the rub, isn't it?" Davin laughed, though there was something heavy in the sound. "Sometimes... There are always sacrifices, Bran. Great men never achieve great deeds without sacrifice."
"Mother and Father? Was Imelda your sacrifice? Will my death further your power?" Bran felt each individual wire on the sword's hilt biting into his flesh with the force of his grip.
"Yes," Davin's voice had gone soft, his head bowed slightly. "Yes, all these deaths serve a purpose. Don't you see? Without blood, there can be no power and without power, there is no defense against the coming darkness!" At the end, Davin's voice regained its feverish power. He turned and Bran was struck once again by what he saw written on his brother's face.
It was then that Bran realized the swirling, indistinct shapes behind his brother had changed. They had coalesced into something new. The figure of a powerfully built man stood in the blackness now, his face angular, yet hauntingly beautiful. The man wore ancient armor, but bore no weapon that Bran could see. Long black hair fell to his shoulders and his eyes glittered cold, chips of obsidian in his alabaster face. The man smiled like a wolf and Bran felt his heart hammer hard in his chest. He knew that face from somewhere – it was all so damnably familiar, yet impossible to place.
Davin followed his brother's gaze and frowned. "What do you see, brother? The Mirror shows something different to
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