Read Online Dance of Destinies (The Galactic Mage Series Book 5) by John Daulton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Daulton
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ever channeled before. But he kept on, channeling at max.
The river of mana he channeled grew faster and faster, sucked into the conduit’s mind with more and more force. The river thinned, stretched out. Thinned more. He tried to channel faster so it wouldn’t thin out and break. He couldn’t channel more. He was a W-ranked illusionist, very powerful, rare power even. He even had a D class in sight, the second school adding more strength, but he was at his max. That was all he could give.
The line of it stretched out farther and farther. The conduit’s flickering, lightless flame pulsing more and more. Then the flame burst in the silent, thunderous way of massive spells being cast. The mana thread broke too. He couldn’t be sure if it broke before, after, or during the concussive release of the spell.
There followed in the next instant a very loud pop, a singular sound like someone had dropped a huge slab of marble flat upon the floor. He felt the brim of his hat flex as air sucked toward the sound.
He opened his eyes and looked to where the crate housing the animals, orphans, and whore had been. It was gone. That was a relief. He turned back to the conduit. “Well, Conduit Wanderfrond, have we done it?”
Wanderfrond shrugged. “I’m not sure. It didn’t feel quite right.”
“Kalafrand, quick. Have a look. Is it down there, in the basement?”
Kalafrand set his powerful sight magic to work, looking across the galaxy to distant planet Earth. He mumbled the seer’s song for a time as he looked around. Black Sander clenched his jaw and waited impatiently. Even the disinterested conduit appeared interested in the result.
Kalafrand’s eyes opened and looked to Black Sander. “I seen it,” he said.
“Well?”
“Best I show you, sir. I’m not as good with words.”
Black Sander nodded and lowered the telepathic block he normally kept in place. “Go on, then.”
The seer sent him what he had seen, delivering the images right to Black Sander’s mind. A few boards lying on a sunlit lawn. Half a canvas thrown over a bush by a window. Another board half-stuffed through a wall near a bright red smear of blood.
The image twitched, and then he was looking into a basement. There was a heap of boards on the floor and half a body sticking out of the west wall: the fourteen-year-old boy. A few of the boards moved, and the younger boy crawled out of the heap looking bewildered. He pushed part of the pile off the old prostitute. Black Sander could see her breathing regularly as she slept. She’d missed the entire thing.
Chapter 8
A ltin held his breath as the giant creature wrapped a tentacle around his helmet. The sinuous tendril snaked around the seal at his neck, and with a pop, pop, pop, popp ing of the clasp, the helmet was off. He was sure he was about to die, and he wasn’t looking forward to the searing in his lungs he was certain would come upon his first breath, which he delayed as long as he could. He reached out for the mana for perhaps the fiftieth time in the last ninety seconds, but it just wasn’t there. It was out there, all around them, but he was trapped in this damned bubble of a ship. He felt as if he’d been embedded in a crystal ball, like being stuck at the center of great Citadel , with no way to get out. And Orli was down there all alone. Once he was dead, she would have no one. He hoped that somehow Roberto had gotten away. Roberto was Orli’s only chance now. He’d come through before. Altin had to believe he would again.
He held his breath until primal biology kicked in and forced him to gasp. He steeled himself for the agony, the fire of some toxic atmosphere.
There was none. Oh, it burned, that much he got as he thought he would. It just wasn’t how he’d thought. The air felt as if it were on fire. Like, actually so. Immediately his lungs felt the heat of all the steam, and there passed a span of time where he wondered if he could possibly bear that kind of heat.
But,
The river of mana he channeled grew faster and faster, sucked into the conduit’s mind with more and more force. The river thinned, stretched out. Thinned more. He tried to channel faster so it wouldn’t thin out and break. He couldn’t channel more. He was a W-ranked illusionist, very powerful, rare power even. He even had a D class in sight, the second school adding more strength, but he was at his max. That was all he could give.
The line of it stretched out farther and farther. The conduit’s flickering, lightless flame pulsing more and more. Then the flame burst in the silent, thunderous way of massive spells being cast. The mana thread broke too. He couldn’t be sure if it broke before, after, or during the concussive release of the spell.
There followed in the next instant a very loud pop, a singular sound like someone had dropped a huge slab of marble flat upon the floor. He felt the brim of his hat flex as air sucked toward the sound.
He opened his eyes and looked to where the crate housing the animals, orphans, and whore had been. It was gone. That was a relief. He turned back to the conduit. “Well, Conduit Wanderfrond, have we done it?”
Wanderfrond shrugged. “I’m not sure. It didn’t feel quite right.”
“Kalafrand, quick. Have a look. Is it down there, in the basement?”
Kalafrand set his powerful sight magic to work, looking across the galaxy to distant planet Earth. He mumbled the seer’s song for a time as he looked around. Black Sander clenched his jaw and waited impatiently. Even the disinterested conduit appeared interested in the result.
Kalafrand’s eyes opened and looked to Black Sander. “I seen it,” he said.
“Well?”
“Best I show you, sir. I’m not as good with words.”
Black Sander nodded and lowered the telepathic block he normally kept in place. “Go on, then.”
The seer sent him what he had seen, delivering the images right to Black Sander’s mind. A few boards lying on a sunlit lawn. Half a canvas thrown over a bush by a window. Another board half-stuffed through a wall near a bright red smear of blood.
The image twitched, and then he was looking into a basement. There was a heap of boards on the floor and half a body sticking out of the west wall: the fourteen-year-old boy. A few of the boards moved, and the younger boy crawled out of the heap looking bewildered. He pushed part of the pile off the old prostitute. Black Sander could see her breathing regularly as she slept. She’d missed the entire thing.
Chapter 8
A ltin held his breath as the giant creature wrapped a tentacle around his helmet. The sinuous tendril snaked around the seal at his neck, and with a pop, pop, pop, popp ing of the clasp, the helmet was off. He was sure he was about to die, and he wasn’t looking forward to the searing in his lungs he was certain would come upon his first breath, which he delayed as long as he could. He reached out for the mana for perhaps the fiftieth time in the last ninety seconds, but it just wasn’t there. It was out there, all around them, but he was trapped in this damned bubble of a ship. He felt as if he’d been embedded in a crystal ball, like being stuck at the center of great Citadel , with no way to get out. And Orli was down there all alone. Once he was dead, she would have no one. He hoped that somehow Roberto had gotten away. Roberto was Orli’s only chance now. He’d come through before. Altin had to believe he would again.
He held his breath until primal biology kicked in and forced him to gasp. He steeled himself for the agony, the fire of some toxic atmosphere.
There was none. Oh, it burned, that much he got as he thought he would. It just wasn’t how he’d thought. The air felt as if it were on fire. Like, actually so. Immediately his lungs felt the heat of all the steam, and there passed a span of time where he wondered if he could possibly bear that kind of heat.
But,
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