Read Online Stardeep by Bruce R. Cordell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bruce R. Cordell
Ads: Link
It reminded her of earth magic exploits performed by an old friend…
“Xet!” she exclaimed. “I thought you’d left me for good!” She shook her head, jarring loose a headache waiting in ambush.
Kitil brought a hand to her forehead and dislodged a heavy fur covering her body. She didn’t remember the fur when she’d passed out. Of course, her faculties had been much the worse for wear then.
The crystal dragonet tolled a happy note and flew down to her.
“Did… did you bring this fur?”
A tiny, drakelike head on the end of a sinuous crystalline neck nodded.
“You saved my life. Damn interfering beast!” It rang a resentful tone.
She glared at it a moment or two, but the headache wasn’t so fierce it was able to conquer her desire to pierce last night’s gloom.
If history was any guide, she’d done something humiliating, if not downright dangerous. She hoped she hadn’t hurt anybody. Killed anybody, she amended. She was sure she’d hurt someone. She couldn’t truthfully call it a bendet if she didn’t get into a fight. Lately, her barroom brawls were much more entertaining. Because of Gage.
Since she’d come to Laothkund, het new acquaintance Gage had proved the perfect partner on the tavern circuit. He was funny, could almost match her drink for drink, and fought like a wildcat. A sneaky wildcat. His forte was disabling assailants quickly.
This was how it usually went down: Kiril’s foul mouth, purposeful baiting, and derision were enough to launch a stiff-necked mere or a righteous priest off a bar stool into Kiril’s business. She took the brunt, and Gage backed her up, if he was around. They would laugh about it later. A few bruises here and there, a few more for their foeswhat was the harm in that? Though she one time saw Gage lighten the purse of a cleric who lay groaning beneath a mead-sopped bench. She wasn’t one for robbery, but to her mind stealing from priests was metely putting already stolen gold back into circulation.
Her stomach intruded with a new question: When had she eaten last? An image of thick potridge crystallized in her bleary brain. Next to a rasher of bacon. And some thick ale, of course…
She swayed to her feet, bracing herself on a wall. “Come if you’re coming, then, I don’t care,” she lied to Xet. Truth was, she was pleased to see the gemlike dtagonet. Its absence had revealed her attachment to it. Who would have guessed? Its most accomplished trait was its ability to irritate her. But it reminded Kiril of the time immediately before she’d come to Laothkund. The only good memory of the last ten years…
She knew an innkeeper who owed her a favor. She began trudging in the direction of the man’s establishment, unsteady at first, but gaining composure as she moved. Xet chimed, then flew over and lighted on her shoulder. Kiril resisted her initial urge to shrug the creature off.
As she walked, her right hand fell of its own accord to her empty scabbard.
Angul!
Gone.
Vertigo and defeat pushed a forlorn groan from her lips. She remembered, again. He’d been gone for days.
She knew it already, of course. But the mind’s knowing and the body’s are not the same. If she ignored his absence long enough, perhaps the next time she checked, he’d magically be back, as if never gone.
“Yeah, right, you canker-ridden half-wit,” she chided herself. Thank Shar’s dead promises she still had her flask of all-forgiving whisky if nothing else.
The flask was forged of bronze, probably made by wood elves. Verdigris obfuscated the deranged face chiseled into the flask’s sidesome ancient god of the vine. She didn’t care who it was. She cared only that in all the yeats she’d owned it, it had never failed to produce its potent drink. Once a bottomless flask to assuage hei infinite shame, it was now a reservoir to fill the hole of Angul’s absence.
After some food, she’d pull out the flask and continue the cycle, until death claimed her.
A crowd
“Xet!” she exclaimed. “I thought you’d left me for good!” She shook her head, jarring loose a headache waiting in ambush.
Kitil brought a hand to her forehead and dislodged a heavy fur covering her body. She didn’t remember the fur when she’d passed out. Of course, her faculties had been much the worse for wear then.
The crystal dragonet tolled a happy note and flew down to her.
“Did… did you bring this fur?”
A tiny, drakelike head on the end of a sinuous crystalline neck nodded.
“You saved my life. Damn interfering beast!” It rang a resentful tone.
She glared at it a moment or two, but the headache wasn’t so fierce it was able to conquer her desire to pierce last night’s gloom.
If history was any guide, she’d done something humiliating, if not downright dangerous. She hoped she hadn’t hurt anybody. Killed anybody, she amended. She was sure she’d hurt someone. She couldn’t truthfully call it a bendet if she didn’t get into a fight. Lately, her barroom brawls were much more entertaining. Because of Gage.
Since she’d come to Laothkund, het new acquaintance Gage had proved the perfect partner on the tavern circuit. He was funny, could almost match her drink for drink, and fought like a wildcat. A sneaky wildcat. His forte was disabling assailants quickly.
This was how it usually went down: Kiril’s foul mouth, purposeful baiting, and derision were enough to launch a stiff-necked mere or a righteous priest off a bar stool into Kiril’s business. She took the brunt, and Gage backed her up, if he was around. They would laugh about it later. A few bruises here and there, a few more for their foeswhat was the harm in that? Though she one time saw Gage lighten the purse of a cleric who lay groaning beneath a mead-sopped bench. She wasn’t one for robbery, but to her mind stealing from priests was metely putting already stolen gold back into circulation.
Her stomach intruded with a new question: When had she eaten last? An image of thick potridge crystallized in her bleary brain. Next to a rasher of bacon. And some thick ale, of course…
She swayed to her feet, bracing herself on a wall. “Come if you’re coming, then, I don’t care,” she lied to Xet. Truth was, she was pleased to see the gemlike dtagonet. Its absence had revealed her attachment to it. Who would have guessed? Its most accomplished trait was its ability to irritate her. But it reminded Kiril of the time immediately before she’d come to Laothkund. The only good memory of the last ten years…
She knew an innkeeper who owed her a favor. She began trudging in the direction of the man’s establishment, unsteady at first, but gaining composure as she moved. Xet chimed, then flew over and lighted on her shoulder. Kiril resisted her initial urge to shrug the creature off.
As she walked, her right hand fell of its own accord to her empty scabbard.
Angul!
Gone.
Vertigo and defeat pushed a forlorn groan from her lips. She remembered, again. He’d been gone for days.
She knew it already, of course. But the mind’s knowing and the body’s are not the same. If she ignored his absence long enough, perhaps the next time she checked, he’d magically be back, as if never gone.
“Yeah, right, you canker-ridden half-wit,” she chided herself. Thank Shar’s dead promises she still had her flask of all-forgiving whisky if nothing else.
The flask was forged of bronze, probably made by wood elves. Verdigris obfuscated the deranged face chiseled into the flask’s sidesome ancient god of the vine. She didn’t care who it was. She cared only that in all the yeats she’d owned it, it had never failed to produce its potent drink. Once a bottomless flask to assuage hei infinite shame, it was now a reservoir to fill the hole of Angul’s absence.
After some food, she’d pull out the flask and continue the cycle, until death claimed her.
A crowd
Similar Books
