Read Online Rift in the Races by John Daulton - Free Book Online Page A

one another as the young lord teased his poor pink-faced uncle mercilessly. Altin disguised his fatigue as best he could and found himself grateful for Vorvington’s diversionary rotundity.
    The marchioness, however, was further infuriated by Thadius’ mockery, and she brought it to an end the moment she’d gathered enough breath. She didn’t say much—as embarrassing Thadius in low company would not do—but a simple “Thadius!” was enough to bring the levity to a halt. A single word with the force of a cracked whip.
    And, if the climb and the impropriety of the young lord were not enough for the vexed marchioness, a high-pitched tone, a piercing shrill just at the edge of hearing, added itself to her list of irritants. Imperceptible at first over the huffs and puffs of their arrival in the chamber, the tone had slowly begun make its presence known and thereby began to agitate nearly everyone in the room. Not all of them heard it, but those who did became easy to spot as, one by one, members of the party began making faces and reaching for their ears, their eyes scouring the area in search of the source of the sound. But there was little there to see.
    The room was bare but for one oaken door on the south wall. There were no decorations, no artwork or carvings in or upon the stone walls. The room’s only torch burned benignly against the wall opposite the door, and it wasn’t even a fancy one, just a plain thing made of bundled reeds, enchanted with the most basic spell to preserve the flame almost interminably. There was nothing else. Just the door, the torch and the ringing sound.
    After a moment of it, a few of them began looking back and forth amongst themselves. Captains Jefferies, Paxton and the pale and lanky Putin all began fiddling with their com badges and checking the battery packs of their side arms. Captain Paxton reached for Captain Asad’s com badge when she was done with her own, to which he responded by pushing her hand away and shooting her a reproaching look.
    “What are you doing?” he demanded. “What’s going on?” His eyes slid back and forth beneath the lowered boom of his thick black brows like a turret gun in need of something to blast.
    The Queen grinned as she watched the group for a moment longer before finally relenting. “I see Peppercorn was correct,” she said, directing the comment to Aderbury and the general standing nearest to her, rather than to Captain Asad. “They can hear it. Interesting.”
    “What is interesting?” demanded Captain Asad, as the turret swung toward her and locked on. “What is it they can hear?” From the severe and studious expression upon his face, he was trying to detect whatever it was the others heard, but with no success. Roberto and Captain Briceno of the Abraham exchanged glances that said they both felt left out as well.
    “That,” said Aderbury, “is the sound of anti-magic, the ultimate alchemy of the enchanters school. It is nothing less than the unachievable, achieved. And our chief researcher, Peppercorn, is the Y-class genius behind it all. She predicted that the massive incongruence of this spell would be so spectacular it would create a physical rippling that even blanks could hear. And it appears she was correct.”
    “And you didn’t bother to test that before we came aboard? Are we your guinea pigs now?” Captain Asad made only the barest effort to restrain his temper at such flagrant disrespect.
    “And why should we?” snapped the marchioness. The indignity of his constant inquisition throughout the tour, his acidic frankness and probing remarks, had finally combined with fatigue, constitutional irritation and nearness to the end of the tour to set her temper to sound against his at last. “ Citadel , Captain, is not a nursery for the magicless, and you would do well to remember you are a ship’s captain and not an emperor from Earth. Know your place.”
    The Queen’s eyes bulged at that, as did the earl’s and