Read Online Dead Stars - Part One (The Emaneska Series) by Ben Galley - Free Book Online Page B

not,’ Durnus replied, more of a statement than a question. For Durnus, leadership meant spending a lot of time being a bare-faced liar. Even after a decade and a half, he was still finding the concept of Arkmage foreign and difficult. For a man who had spent most of his life in isolation, commanding nothing except a tiny outpost and a stubborn Written, it had been a back-breaking transition to Arkmage. Not to mention battling the rumours and suspicions of his origins the magick council regularly entertained, or of his great power. It had been worse for Tyrfing, of course, but somehow, together, they had managed. At least they could rely on their magickal authority. A five-runed Written and a pale king on the twin thrones. Nobody would have ever guessed it, and nobody knew the half of it, but one thing was for sure: their prowess was undisputed. It occasionally crept to the edge of terrifying.
    A loud roar suddenly erupted from one of the taverns at the foot of the Arkathedral, and Durnus thought he heard Heimdall wincing. The god leant a little further back from the edge of the battlements. Durnus didn’t remark on it. Instead he enjoyed the cold breeze on his warm skin. It smelled of the sea, spices from the markets, and brick-dust.
    The god soon asked a question. ‘And what of Tyrfing?’
    ‘Surely you can hear him?’ Durnus asked, and then cocked his head to the side so he could listen to the breeze. There it was: a faint and rhythmic thudding, coming from somewhere below them. Repetitive, angry, the sound of steel being punished.
    ‘I have listened to him all night. A blacksmith in his spare time. An Arkmage and a forge-stoker, how strange.’
    Durnus shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But Tyrfing has been instrumental in our defence plans. He has been working day and night with the army blacksmiths to lend our soldiers and mages every edge, pardon the pun. His armour designs have been refined and put into mass production. He spends hours poring over forge-spell manuals and sketching plans with the city architects. The Arfell scholars are tired of being summoned by him. Did you know the new Arkathedral gates were his design? Of course you did. He’s even commissioned specialised armour for the Written, based on the Scalussen pieces he’s been collecting. I do not think this city has ever seen a more proactive Arkmage in all its years.’
    ‘He’s been collecting Scalussen armour?’
    ‘Drained half the coffers in the process, much to the anger of Malvus and his council cronies,’ muttered Durnus. He sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s for Farden.’
    ‘Farden?’
    ‘Tyrfing thinks that it will entice Farden back to Krauslung. The mage has always been obsessed with that armour, as you probably know. He’s searching for the Nine.’
    ‘Is he now?’ mused the god.
    ‘Foolish, I know. The last we ever heard of him, he was in Skewerboar, in the Crumbled Empire.’ Heimdall said nothing. Durnus continued. ‘He waylaid an old Skölgard general’s hunting party in the middle of the mountains. Killed half his honour guard, so we heard, incapacitated the rest, and then, without even a word, he stripped the general of his Scalussen helmet and put it on. Apparently it was not to his taste, whatever that might be. He beat the general half to death with it and then left them both in a puddle. That helmet was most likely worth the weight of a dragon in gold, and yet he left it right there, and disappeared into the mountains. That was the last we heard of him, and that was ten years ago. Every messenger we send comes back empty-handed. The mage is a ghost. I just hope not in the literal sense,’ Durnus explained. He turned his blind eyes on the god. ‘But you already knew all of this, did you not?’
    Heimdall looked out across the city. He scratched at his chin, not because of an itch, but because it was something to occupy him while he thought. ‘I have watched Farden in the past.’
    ‘I didn’t think a god could