Read Online Dawnbringer: A Forgotten Realms Novel by Samantha Henderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Samantha Henderson
Ads: Link
back to their campsite at the old oak. The donkey grumbled, but Jandi was light and there wasn’t far to go. She kept turning the bracelet over in her hands, and every once in a while the mark on her cheek shone green.
“We’ll need a name for it,” said Gareth to the company in general.
“A name for what?” replied Ivor as Jandi and the donkey were silent.
Gareth gestured with his thumb over his shoulder at the monolith.
“That,” he said. “The Giant’s Fist is an unwieldy name for a trading headquarters.”
“I have a name for you,” said Ivor with a suspicious glance backward. “Jadaren’s Folly.”
N EAR THE G IANT’S F IST , L ATER J ADAREN H OLD
1461 DR—T HE Y EAR OF T HREE G ODDESSES B LESSING
B etween the lacework of the oak’s branches, Jandi, staring at the sky darkening from lavender to purple, stretched her neck before looking back down at the torque in her lap. The
presence
she’d felt while warding the Fist—or the Hold, as Gareth decided to call it on the hike back to the campsite—was gone, but the memory lingered of a great intelligence imprisoned, all too aware of its confinement. It gave her the unpleasant feeling of seeing a forgotten pet in a cage, staring at her with dumb, tortured eyes, mired with filth and too big for its shackles.
Ivor had ventured under the forest’s canopy to restock their wood, taking the donkey with him (“I should’ve thought of that yesternight,” Gareth had remarked), and Gareth was down by the stream, trying to trap a dove or some quail as a change from dried meat. Birds twittered in the elms, and if Jandi listened carefully, she could hear the distant chatter of the stream.
She didn’t hear the shadowed figure behind her, nor did she know the danger she was in until the thick leather cord snapped around her neck and was pulled tight. Jandi’s eyes opened wide and her hands flew instinctively to her throat, but her assailant’s fingers were strong. Jandi tried to wrest the garrote from her neck, but the leather bit deep into her flesh. She reached behind her head to try to grasp her attacker’s wrists and pull them away. But exhausted from the day’s work, she only batted weakly at the wiry forearms that twisted the cord ever tighter.
Desperately, Jandi tried to suck in air—to fill her lungs and call for help, speak a spell of protection, to live—but her windpipe was wrenched shut. She moved her lips, but no sound came out. The fire before her turned red as the blood beat behind her eyes, and black splotches floated before her. Her throat was on fire, and she felt as if her chest was going to explode. She could hear only the roar of her own heartbeat, desperate and fast, in her ears.
Finding her last reserve of strength, she bucked against the hard ground, thrusting against the figure behind her. The cruel grip loosened for a second, and she frantically drew in what air she could. She tried to focus, to make her will into a Key and unlock her assailant’s body.
She couldn’t do it. Her assailant recovered and pulled the cord tighter, cutting off her breath for good. Jandi struggled limply a few more seconds, but her vision was blacked out now, with only a few spots of light floating in front of her, and the pressure on her throat hurt like a raw wound. The fire in her breast was fading, and she didn’t even want to fight anymore. The roar in her ears slowed and faded until she could hear each individual
thump-bump
, slower and slower, weaker and weaker. Her heartbeat faded, faltered, and stopped.
Jandi was lying on the wet grass, her eyes glazed open, although she saw nothing, a black beyond the darkest night before her eyes. Something seemed to stir inside that blackness, something huge and malevolent. She was paralyzed, as in the terror of a waking dream when nightmare forces advance and the dreamer is powerless to move.
The presence, whatever it was, was made of darkness itself and was therefore invisible, but
“We’ll need a name for it,” said Gareth to the company in general.
“A name for what?” replied Ivor as Jandi and the donkey were silent.
Gareth gestured with his thumb over his shoulder at the monolith.
“That,” he said. “The Giant’s Fist is an unwieldy name for a trading headquarters.”
“I have a name for you,” said Ivor with a suspicious glance backward. “Jadaren’s Folly.”
N EAR THE G IANT’S F IST , L ATER J ADAREN H OLD
1461 DR—T HE Y EAR OF T HREE G ODDESSES B LESSING
B etween the lacework of the oak’s branches, Jandi, staring at the sky darkening from lavender to purple, stretched her neck before looking back down at the torque in her lap. The
presence
she’d felt while warding the Fist—or the Hold, as Gareth decided to call it on the hike back to the campsite—was gone, but the memory lingered of a great intelligence imprisoned, all too aware of its confinement. It gave her the unpleasant feeling of seeing a forgotten pet in a cage, staring at her with dumb, tortured eyes, mired with filth and too big for its shackles.
Ivor had ventured under the forest’s canopy to restock their wood, taking the donkey with him (“I should’ve thought of that yesternight,” Gareth had remarked), and Gareth was down by the stream, trying to trap a dove or some quail as a change from dried meat. Birds twittered in the elms, and if Jandi listened carefully, she could hear the distant chatter of the stream.
She didn’t hear the shadowed figure behind her, nor did she know the danger she was in until the thick leather cord snapped around her neck and was pulled tight. Jandi’s eyes opened wide and her hands flew instinctively to her throat, but her assailant’s fingers were strong. Jandi tried to wrest the garrote from her neck, but the leather bit deep into her flesh. She reached behind her head to try to grasp her attacker’s wrists and pull them away. But exhausted from the day’s work, she only batted weakly at the wiry forearms that twisted the cord ever tighter.
Desperately, Jandi tried to suck in air—to fill her lungs and call for help, speak a spell of protection, to live—but her windpipe was wrenched shut. She moved her lips, but no sound came out. The fire before her turned red as the blood beat behind her eyes, and black splotches floated before her. Her throat was on fire, and she felt as if her chest was going to explode. She could hear only the roar of her own heartbeat, desperate and fast, in her ears.
Finding her last reserve of strength, she bucked against the hard ground, thrusting against the figure behind her. The cruel grip loosened for a second, and she frantically drew in what air she could. She tried to focus, to make her will into a Key and unlock her assailant’s body.
She couldn’t do it. Her assailant recovered and pulled the cord tighter, cutting off her breath for good. Jandi struggled limply a few more seconds, but her vision was blacked out now, with only a few spots of light floating in front of her, and the pressure on her throat hurt like a raw wound. The fire in her breast was fading, and she didn’t even want to fight anymore. The roar in her ears slowed and faded until she could hear each individual
thump-bump
, slower and slower, weaker and weaker. Her heartbeat faded, faltered, and stopped.
Jandi was lying on the wet grass, her eyes glazed open, although she saw nothing, a black beyond the darkest night before her eyes. Something seemed to stir inside that blackness, something huge and malevolent. She was paralyzed, as in the terror of a waking dream when nightmare forces advance and the dreamer is powerless to move.
The presence, whatever it was, was made of darkness itself and was therefore invisible, but
Similar Books
