Read Online Here Shines the Sun by M. David White - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M. David White
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out a long breath and at the bottom of the column wrote ‘188’, then circled it and underlined it. He leaned back in his chair and brushed his blonde hair from his face and rubbed his eyes. He looked back down at the book and shook his head. “We’re nearly out of everything, Solastron.” he said.
At his feet laid a giant, blue wolf with amethyst stripes. It looked up at him with aquamarine eyes and yawned.
Etheil tapped his pen upon the table. “I don’t know what we’ll do come winter. And if the Kald attack us in force, we’re done.”
Solastron stood up and shook himself off. He sat beside Etheil’s chair, his head nearly to Etheil’s own. “The hour is late.” the wolf rumbled. “Perhaps in the morning you can speak sense to Brandrir.”
“It’s certainly worth another shot. Damn that stubborn pride of his.” said Etheil. He sighed. “Maybe I just tell Aries she’s down to a handful of artillery shells. She won’t let Brandrir off so easily and he can never say no to her.” He clucked his tongue as he thought.
Solastron’s ears perked up. His head tilted to the side, his giant, black nostrils flaring. He padded to the closed door and put his snout to the crack at the floor, sucking in huge breaths through his nose. Obsidian claws raked at the stone floor.
Etheil stood up. “What is it?”
The wolf turned to him, his lips flaring to show great fangs. “Iron and rust. Death.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The cold halls of the Grimwatch were dark this night, but darker still was the portal that opened in the shadows between two gaslamps on the wall. Their faint, yellow-green flames cast hazy orbs of light upon the gray stone of the walls and floor, and played upon the tall figure that stepped as silently as a breath from its otherworldly gateway.
The Ghost was a thin and rigid being draped in a flowing cloak of lithe, iron chains as delicate as those used for necklaces. It was black, diseased with rust, and stank of damp iron. Yet, for all its weight and metal, the robe flowed upon the Ghost’s form like the silent waters of a forgotten pool, stirred by things beneath. Its face was hidden behind a mask of red-black iron—a veil of primordial slag that had hardened when it was still rippled and dripping—and it had the dull, smooth sheen of melted wax. Its eyes and mouth were but dark slits, and across its face was painted a thin, crimson shockwave.
The Ghost’s waist bent forward at an eerie angle and it moved quickly down the corridor on soft, black boots, gliding like a snake upon water. At the end of the hallway was a steel door guarded by a pair of the Grimwatch’s soldiers. They wore plate armor, black and lacquered, and swords hung in scabbards at their sides. One had a crude leg of steel bars, greasy pistons and exposed gears. The other’s breastplate had an exposed left side where a brass mechanism was implanted into the man’s flesh. It purred softly with every breath he took, and the polished tank on his back hissed with puffs of steam.
The Ghost came upon them like a panther from the shadows. The first guard got his sword out but hardly made a yelp before the Ghost’s dagger cut deeply across his throat. The knife was a long and gruesome looking thing, hewn from blackest obsidian. The rough, jagged blade bit right to the bone, and the man’s head fell against his back with a rush of crimson.
The second guard drew his sword, his breaths wheezing in mechanical rhythm. The Ghost spun with ethereal grace, the wet blade flinging blood as it slashed back and forth, up and down with uncanny speed. The guard’s sword sparked off the dagger twice, but the Ghost twisted and turned with every strike, moving as if his body contained no bones. The guard spun, whipping his sword around. The Ghost ducked and, for all its height, slunk like a cat between the guard’s legs, coming up behind him. The guard nimbly tumbled forward, twisting on the floor as he rolled to
At his feet laid a giant, blue wolf with amethyst stripes. It looked up at him with aquamarine eyes and yawned.
Etheil tapped his pen upon the table. “I don’t know what we’ll do come winter. And if the Kald attack us in force, we’re done.”
Solastron stood up and shook himself off. He sat beside Etheil’s chair, his head nearly to Etheil’s own. “The hour is late.” the wolf rumbled. “Perhaps in the morning you can speak sense to Brandrir.”
“It’s certainly worth another shot. Damn that stubborn pride of his.” said Etheil. He sighed. “Maybe I just tell Aries she’s down to a handful of artillery shells. She won’t let Brandrir off so easily and he can never say no to her.” He clucked his tongue as he thought.
Solastron’s ears perked up. His head tilted to the side, his giant, black nostrils flaring. He padded to the closed door and put his snout to the crack at the floor, sucking in huge breaths through his nose. Obsidian claws raked at the stone floor.
Etheil stood up. “What is it?”
The wolf turned to him, his lips flaring to show great fangs. “Iron and rust. Death.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The cold halls of the Grimwatch were dark this night, but darker still was the portal that opened in the shadows between two gaslamps on the wall. Their faint, yellow-green flames cast hazy orbs of light upon the gray stone of the walls and floor, and played upon the tall figure that stepped as silently as a breath from its otherworldly gateway.
The Ghost was a thin and rigid being draped in a flowing cloak of lithe, iron chains as delicate as those used for necklaces. It was black, diseased with rust, and stank of damp iron. Yet, for all its weight and metal, the robe flowed upon the Ghost’s form like the silent waters of a forgotten pool, stirred by things beneath. Its face was hidden behind a mask of red-black iron—a veil of primordial slag that had hardened when it was still rippled and dripping—and it had the dull, smooth sheen of melted wax. Its eyes and mouth were but dark slits, and across its face was painted a thin, crimson shockwave.
The Ghost’s waist bent forward at an eerie angle and it moved quickly down the corridor on soft, black boots, gliding like a snake upon water. At the end of the hallway was a steel door guarded by a pair of the Grimwatch’s soldiers. They wore plate armor, black and lacquered, and swords hung in scabbards at their sides. One had a crude leg of steel bars, greasy pistons and exposed gears. The other’s breastplate had an exposed left side where a brass mechanism was implanted into the man’s flesh. It purred softly with every breath he took, and the polished tank on his back hissed with puffs of steam.
The Ghost came upon them like a panther from the shadows. The first guard got his sword out but hardly made a yelp before the Ghost’s dagger cut deeply across his throat. The knife was a long and gruesome looking thing, hewn from blackest obsidian. The rough, jagged blade bit right to the bone, and the man’s head fell against his back with a rush of crimson.
The second guard drew his sword, his breaths wheezing in mechanical rhythm. The Ghost spun with ethereal grace, the wet blade flinging blood as it slashed back and forth, up and down with uncanny speed. The guard’s sword sparked off the dagger twice, but the Ghost twisted and turned with every strike, moving as if his body contained no bones. The guard spun, whipping his sword around. The Ghost ducked and, for all its height, slunk like a cat between the guard’s legs, coming up behind him. The guard nimbly tumbled forward, twisting on the floor as he rolled to
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