Read Online Dead Stars - Part One (The Emaneska Series) by Ben Galley - Free Book Online
Authors: Ben Galley
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And don’t even get me started on the things I see in the magick markets these days… Something’s wrong with the magick in this world.’
Tyrfing stood up to circle his chair. ‘I agree with Modren. It’s not just the magick or the markets. Stranger and stranger things keep appearing in the wilds. Faeries, huldras, ghosts, talk of other gryphons even. There is talk of creatures even we have never heard of, creatures that seem to have emerged almost from nowhere.’
Durnus tapped his fingernail on his wine glass. ‘Almost as if they’re drawn to something.’
Tyrfing shook his head. ‘It can’t be her. If she’s that powerful, why would she be hunting us Written down, sneaking about like an assassin? Why would she fear us in number?’
‘Then maybe she’s just hunting one Written…?’ ventured Loki. The room fell silent. Tyrfing and Modren both sipped their wine, while Durnus just stared sightlessly into space. His pale eyes said nothing. His lips however, said it all. They were drawn tight, almost as white as his eyes, as if the blood had been sucked straight out of them. Durnus didn’t trust himself to speak. If Loki felt the tension, he didn’t show it. He just waited for his answer. It never came.
Verix sighed. ‘If that is the case, and what Loki suggests is true, then it is either because Farden is a danger to her, or she and the old woman want vengeance. Both can be useful to us.’
Modren glowered at his wine. ‘And what of my dead mages?’
‘Collateral.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever cursed at a lady before, never mind a goddess, and I don’t intend to start today. I would appreciate it if you could inject a little tact into that truthful tongue of yours. With all due respect,’ Modren said, slowly and carefully. Verix simply closed her eyes and said nothing in return.
Heimdall held up his hands. ‘We digress.’
‘Indeed we do,’ Durnus sighed. ‘I think we have time on our hands. We’ll discuss what our defences are later, after dinner. For now, you three need to change. Elessi has supplied clothes for you in the adjacent rooms. She will get you anything else you need.’
‘Thank you, Durnus,’ said Heimdall, getting to his feet. Loki went to stare out of the window again. Verix stayed in her chair, eyes closed and concentrating on something. As he moved to leave, Heimdall put his hand on Tyrfing’s shoulder. ‘I should like to see Ilios, when there is a chance.’
‘Tonight,’ muttered the Arkmage. It was impossible to miss the flicker of angst in his face. He caught the god by the arm as he moved away. His ocean-blue eyes met Heimdall’s tawny ones. There, under the weight of them, it felt as though the god was looking through him, as if he were as faceless as glass. ‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked. ‘Farden?’
Heimdall shook his head. ‘I do not.’
Tyrfing took a breath and nodded, and slowly but surely, released the god’s arm. ‘Fine,’ he replied. With a squeak of his boot, he grabbed his glass and the bottle of wine, and then went to an ornate pine door at the far end of the room, by the window. Durnus listened to his footsteps and made a face.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
Tyrfing’s reply was almost sliced in half by the slam of the door. ‘To my forge.’
Modren and Durnus looked at each other. Heimdall look confused. The Undermage stretched and yawned. ‘Be glad you’re not a chunk of hot metal, sir,’ he said.
Drowned, like the cracked hull of a stricken ship, was the city in its night-time noise. The sun had vanished over the peak of Hardja no more than an hour ago. The western sky glowed like dying coals. Krauslung seemed intent on making up for the failing light with its own manmade glimmering. Candles, torches, fires, lanterns, they all came alive. That, and the interminable sound of evening in the city. The ruckus seemed louder tonight. Call it a funeral for the winter. Call it an average night in a city full of coin,
Tyrfing stood up to circle his chair. ‘I agree with Modren. It’s not just the magick or the markets. Stranger and stranger things keep appearing in the wilds. Faeries, huldras, ghosts, talk of other gryphons even. There is talk of creatures even we have never heard of, creatures that seem to have emerged almost from nowhere.’
Durnus tapped his fingernail on his wine glass. ‘Almost as if they’re drawn to something.’
Tyrfing shook his head. ‘It can’t be her. If she’s that powerful, why would she be hunting us Written down, sneaking about like an assassin? Why would she fear us in number?’
‘Then maybe she’s just hunting one Written…?’ ventured Loki. The room fell silent. Tyrfing and Modren both sipped their wine, while Durnus just stared sightlessly into space. His pale eyes said nothing. His lips however, said it all. They were drawn tight, almost as white as his eyes, as if the blood had been sucked straight out of them. Durnus didn’t trust himself to speak. If Loki felt the tension, he didn’t show it. He just waited for his answer. It never came.
Verix sighed. ‘If that is the case, and what Loki suggests is true, then it is either because Farden is a danger to her, or she and the old woman want vengeance. Both can be useful to us.’
Modren glowered at his wine. ‘And what of my dead mages?’
‘Collateral.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever cursed at a lady before, never mind a goddess, and I don’t intend to start today. I would appreciate it if you could inject a little tact into that truthful tongue of yours. With all due respect,’ Modren said, slowly and carefully. Verix simply closed her eyes and said nothing in return.
Heimdall held up his hands. ‘We digress.’
‘Indeed we do,’ Durnus sighed. ‘I think we have time on our hands. We’ll discuss what our defences are later, after dinner. For now, you three need to change. Elessi has supplied clothes for you in the adjacent rooms. She will get you anything else you need.’
‘Thank you, Durnus,’ said Heimdall, getting to his feet. Loki went to stare out of the window again. Verix stayed in her chair, eyes closed and concentrating on something. As he moved to leave, Heimdall put his hand on Tyrfing’s shoulder. ‘I should like to see Ilios, when there is a chance.’
‘Tonight,’ muttered the Arkmage. It was impossible to miss the flicker of angst in his face. He caught the god by the arm as he moved away. His ocean-blue eyes met Heimdall’s tawny ones. There, under the weight of them, it felt as though the god was looking through him, as if he were as faceless as glass. ‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked. ‘Farden?’
Heimdall shook his head. ‘I do not.’
Tyrfing took a breath and nodded, and slowly but surely, released the god’s arm. ‘Fine,’ he replied. With a squeak of his boot, he grabbed his glass and the bottle of wine, and then went to an ornate pine door at the far end of the room, by the window. Durnus listened to his footsteps and made a face.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
Tyrfing’s reply was almost sliced in half by the slam of the door. ‘To my forge.’
Modren and Durnus looked at each other. Heimdall look confused. The Undermage stretched and yawned. ‘Be glad you’re not a chunk of hot metal, sir,’ he said.
Drowned, like the cracked hull of a stricken ship, was the city in its night-time noise. The sun had vanished over the peak of Hardja no more than an hour ago. The western sky glowed like dying coals. Krauslung seemed intent on making up for the failing light with its own manmade glimmering. Candles, torches, fires, lanterns, they all came alive. That, and the interminable sound of evening in the city. The ruckus seemed louder tonight. Call it a funeral for the winter. Call it an average night in a city full of coin,
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