Read Online Gonji: The Soul Within the Steel: The Deathwind Trilogy, Book Two by T. C. Rypel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. C. Rypel
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Akryllonian nationals were a dark, pale folk who looked drawn, worn by their nomadic life. Lean and hungry. Desperate. Such qualities translated into ferociousness in battle, he well knew. The children, especially, seemed a pathetic lot; scrawny and hollow-eyed, weak and sickly. But the men, the Llorm regulars, were hardy enough, and if their will to live, to preserve their people and ease the burden of their families, ran deep enough, they’d not be leaving the province after the winter. Not this winter, nor many winters hence.
It was all absurd. Could this really be the remnant of some lost island kingdom and not simply the camp following of a bandit chieftain? Perhaps they’d have answers soon.
The delegates were led through the portals of the great hall and into a massive groin vault with egresses into three corridors. They turned left, armed guards before and behind them, passed noisy chambers and anterooms, and entered through a broad archway into the hall proper.
It was a cavernous place, richly appointed, alive with the chatter and laughter of soldiers and civilians, servants and animals. Dogs barked and begged, scurried underfoot, awaiting handouts to come. Roistering mercenaries bellowed and clanked their armament, called out ribald jokes; some, already drunk, grabbed at scampering, yelping servant girls.
Gonji sniffed distastefully. He had been expecting a more sedate and august display, something akin to courtly decorum. But this was the epitome of decadence, a scene freshly cut from the Judgment Day perdition paintings he had seen.
Oil lamps and cresset torches blazed in the hall. The only windows were tall, slender affairs set high up on the walls, which admitted a network of murky gray twilight swirling with smoke and dust motes. Halfway up the walls, running its course around them, a canopied gallery bulged out over the hall, supported by ornate ivory columns. Dozens of chamber doors gave egress from the gallery, and at one side sat a group of musicians. Lute and recorder, flute and cymbal valiantly strove against the babble and din.
Stately and heraldic arras hung about the walls, gazing down somberly on the wassail. The long oaken tables already were in disarray, the parquet floor a quagmire of mud and beverage spills. The banquet had yet to be served.
They were led to a solitary table set before the raised dais where several of Klann’s advisers had already assumed their places. The four were seated at the end before the dais, Flavio and Gonji facing Milorad and Garth. Several other places at their table were set but untenanted. Servants crisscrossed the room, darting about with pitchers and kegs in a failing effort to keep flagons and goblets full. The air reeked of mead and ale, wine and kvas . Some servants fairly tripped over each other in their effusive efforts to greet the smiling Flavio, Milorad, and Garth. One scullery maid knelt and kissed Flavio’s hand, pleading for him to secure her release.
They sat back and observed the orgiastic proceedings as their beverages were served, Gonji and Flavio selecting wine; Garth having an ale; and Milorad, mead. No one spoke for a time, each man content to observe, to ponder the promise of the night’s meeting, to seek a comfortable niche for himself in the surroundings.
Gonji saw that the adjacent tables were reserved for the Llorm’s women and children and decided that was good. He was beginning to take his ease in this magnificent structure of huge ashlar blocks and sturdy beams which massed beasts of burden might strain at in vain. He worked at a stoic detachment from the nods and chuckles cast in his direction by tactless soldiers. Their childish threat was distant and impotent; it couldn’t disturb his harmony. He even met Julian’s occasional haughty glances with calm, impassive stares of his own, breaking them off at his leisure. Dignity will be mine tonight , he thought with supreme self-satisfaction.
Then the Great Dane sidled up
It was all absurd. Could this really be the remnant of some lost island kingdom and not simply the camp following of a bandit chieftain? Perhaps they’d have answers soon.
The delegates were led through the portals of the great hall and into a massive groin vault with egresses into three corridors. They turned left, armed guards before and behind them, passed noisy chambers and anterooms, and entered through a broad archway into the hall proper.
It was a cavernous place, richly appointed, alive with the chatter and laughter of soldiers and civilians, servants and animals. Dogs barked and begged, scurried underfoot, awaiting handouts to come. Roistering mercenaries bellowed and clanked their armament, called out ribald jokes; some, already drunk, grabbed at scampering, yelping servant girls.
Gonji sniffed distastefully. He had been expecting a more sedate and august display, something akin to courtly decorum. But this was the epitome of decadence, a scene freshly cut from the Judgment Day perdition paintings he had seen.
Oil lamps and cresset torches blazed in the hall. The only windows were tall, slender affairs set high up on the walls, which admitted a network of murky gray twilight swirling with smoke and dust motes. Halfway up the walls, running its course around them, a canopied gallery bulged out over the hall, supported by ornate ivory columns. Dozens of chamber doors gave egress from the gallery, and at one side sat a group of musicians. Lute and recorder, flute and cymbal valiantly strove against the babble and din.
Stately and heraldic arras hung about the walls, gazing down somberly on the wassail. The long oaken tables already were in disarray, the parquet floor a quagmire of mud and beverage spills. The banquet had yet to be served.
They were led to a solitary table set before the raised dais where several of Klann’s advisers had already assumed their places. The four were seated at the end before the dais, Flavio and Gonji facing Milorad and Garth. Several other places at their table were set but untenanted. Servants crisscrossed the room, darting about with pitchers and kegs in a failing effort to keep flagons and goblets full. The air reeked of mead and ale, wine and kvas . Some servants fairly tripped over each other in their effusive efforts to greet the smiling Flavio, Milorad, and Garth. One scullery maid knelt and kissed Flavio’s hand, pleading for him to secure her release.
They sat back and observed the orgiastic proceedings as their beverages were served, Gonji and Flavio selecting wine; Garth having an ale; and Milorad, mead. No one spoke for a time, each man content to observe, to ponder the promise of the night’s meeting, to seek a comfortable niche for himself in the surroundings.
Gonji saw that the adjacent tables were reserved for the Llorm’s women and children and decided that was good. He was beginning to take his ease in this magnificent structure of huge ashlar blocks and sturdy beams which massed beasts of burden might strain at in vain. He worked at a stoic detachment from the nods and chuckles cast in his direction by tactless soldiers. Their childish threat was distant and impotent; it couldn’t disturb his harmony. He even met Julian’s occasional haughty glances with calm, impassive stares of his own, breaking them off at his leisure. Dignity will be mine tonight , he thought with supreme self-satisfaction.
Then the Great Dane sidled up
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