Read Online INBORN (The Sagas of Di'Ghon) by J. Lawrence - Free Book Online
Authors: J. Lawrence
Ads: Link
little arcs of blue smoke before it stuck bowl first in the snow with a sharp hiss, his treasured pipe fell from his open mouth.
Lars Telazno never felt his own knees buckle.
He only faintly registered a blur of movement before Gabril’s iron grip bit into his arm, steadying him before he fell into the snow. His vision had instantly faded into a whirl of snowy white, evergreen, and the dark black of the night sky. Instinctively Lars Telazno extended his senses, and dove into the Jen’Ghon, his mind flowing through the currents of azure wind that were always available to him. He reached out in all directions, searching for the disturbance that had rocked him.
He knew exactly what was happening. Every minute detail of it. Yet it took a moment to filter through his mind. For a fleeting instant he wondered if age had finally taken its toll and he had finally gone senile. It was impossible after all. The Jen’Ghon, translated air current in ancient, had been wielded with incredible force. No organization or skill to it, just an explosion of raw power. He felt the skies high above shift, giving way to an unprecedented avalanche of wind shear. It shot from one point, high in the Anwarian reaches, straight into the sky and outward from there.
Lars shuddered inside. The Anwarian Range winds were the stabilizing force for the weather of the civilized world. They had blown east for as long as the weather had been recorded in the libraries of Di’ Ghon. Now, they did not. It was as if a wall of expanding air marched out from one point, forcing the mighty trade winds aside.
In the halls of Di’Ghon, Lars Telazno, like all members of the Order, learned how to manipulate the ghons he was inborn with. Like the rest of his guild, he could rearrange air , making it do what he willed. But that didn’t mean that he should. He couldn’t imagine how many inborns and how much meldstone it would take to wield so much of the Jen’Ghon, but whoever they were, they used it blindly with no thought to what they were doing. As blackness overwhelmed him Lars was certain of one thing. The damage done to the heavens could not be undone.
Whoever they were, they had broken one of Di’Ghon’s oldest of laws. The Law of Balance. Nature was balanced on the edge of a knife as it was. Only the Creator could possibly understand the complexity of it. Changing it without any thought of how it was to be set right after was insanity at best. Evil at the worst.
Lars ’ eyes popped open at the smell of strong cinnamon. Gabril had him lying on a bed of pine needles with his head propped up on a wadded wool blanket. Lars wondered how long he had been out. The man had had enough time to brew cinnamon tea.
“What the hells happened?” Gabril asked, as he helped Lars up with an arm that could have been carved from one of the mighty evergreens that towered above him. Concern was etched in the corners of his protector’s eyes.
“I’m not sure.” Lars rubbed at his eye sockets, trying to shield them from the gray light of morning.
Morning?
He took the metal cup Gabril handed him and inhaled the cinnamon, letting the strong scent bring him back fully.
“Tell me again how I got stuck with you?” Gabril chided and shook his head in mock self pity as he spat into the flames.
“I don’t know.” He lied. At the time Gabril and he were the best men for a nasty piece of work that only the two were suited for. They had completed the task, as distasteful as it was, and were thanked for it by being sent to the most remote portions of Arth, where the self righteous Di’Madierin in the great halls of Di’Ghon wouldn’t have to look at them, and be reminded of the uncomfortable truth. “But I might have need of your skills again.” Lars glanced at Gabril’s two sword hilts protruding from the double scabbard across his back.
“Where are we going?” The man actually smiled at the prospect.
“If I am not mistaken, Ontar Hold.” Lars answered with a
Lars Telazno never felt his own knees buckle.
He only faintly registered a blur of movement before Gabril’s iron grip bit into his arm, steadying him before he fell into the snow. His vision had instantly faded into a whirl of snowy white, evergreen, and the dark black of the night sky. Instinctively Lars Telazno extended his senses, and dove into the Jen’Ghon, his mind flowing through the currents of azure wind that were always available to him. He reached out in all directions, searching for the disturbance that had rocked him.
He knew exactly what was happening. Every minute detail of it. Yet it took a moment to filter through his mind. For a fleeting instant he wondered if age had finally taken its toll and he had finally gone senile. It was impossible after all. The Jen’Ghon, translated air current in ancient, had been wielded with incredible force. No organization or skill to it, just an explosion of raw power. He felt the skies high above shift, giving way to an unprecedented avalanche of wind shear. It shot from one point, high in the Anwarian reaches, straight into the sky and outward from there.
Lars shuddered inside. The Anwarian Range winds were the stabilizing force for the weather of the civilized world. They had blown east for as long as the weather had been recorded in the libraries of Di’ Ghon. Now, they did not. It was as if a wall of expanding air marched out from one point, forcing the mighty trade winds aside.
In the halls of Di’Ghon, Lars Telazno, like all members of the Order, learned how to manipulate the ghons he was inborn with. Like the rest of his guild, he could rearrange air , making it do what he willed. But that didn’t mean that he should. He couldn’t imagine how many inborns and how much meldstone it would take to wield so much of the Jen’Ghon, but whoever they were, they used it blindly with no thought to what they were doing. As blackness overwhelmed him Lars was certain of one thing. The damage done to the heavens could not be undone.
Whoever they were, they had broken one of Di’Ghon’s oldest of laws. The Law of Balance. Nature was balanced on the edge of a knife as it was. Only the Creator could possibly understand the complexity of it. Changing it without any thought of how it was to be set right after was insanity at best. Evil at the worst.
Lars ’ eyes popped open at the smell of strong cinnamon. Gabril had him lying on a bed of pine needles with his head propped up on a wadded wool blanket. Lars wondered how long he had been out. The man had had enough time to brew cinnamon tea.
“What the hells happened?” Gabril asked, as he helped Lars up with an arm that could have been carved from one of the mighty evergreens that towered above him. Concern was etched in the corners of his protector’s eyes.
“I’m not sure.” Lars rubbed at his eye sockets, trying to shield them from the gray light of morning.
Morning?
He took the metal cup Gabril handed him and inhaled the cinnamon, letting the strong scent bring him back fully.
“Tell me again how I got stuck with you?” Gabril chided and shook his head in mock self pity as he spat into the flames.
“I don’t know.” He lied. At the time Gabril and he were the best men for a nasty piece of work that only the two were suited for. They had completed the task, as distasteful as it was, and were thanked for it by being sent to the most remote portions of Arth, where the self righteous Di’Madierin in the great halls of Di’Ghon wouldn’t have to look at them, and be reminded of the uncomfortable truth. “But I might have need of your skills again.” Lars glanced at Gabril’s two sword hilts protruding from the double scabbard across his back.
“Where are we going?” The man actually smiled at the prospect.
“If I am not mistaken, Ontar Hold.” Lars answered with a
Similar Books
