Read Online The Legend of Asahiel: Book 03 - The Divine Talisman by Eldon Thompson - Free Book Online
Authors: Eldon Thompson
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Epic, Fantasy - Epic, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Demonology, Kings and rulers, Quests (Expeditions), Leviathan
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her.
“No!” he shouted through his own gag, lunging from beneath the pike and drawing his knife.
As the others looked to the boy’s distraction, Marisha rolled to her knees and elbowed her captor in the mouth.
Pagus’s muffled cry spurred her on. “Run!”
Her hands and feet dug at the carpet as she raced toward her bedchamber. Thaddreus had a step on her, but he too had stopped to look back on his captives. His hesitation allowed her to barrel past with a shove, leaving him to stumble and trip on his robes.
Once inside the next room, she seized the Sword and tossed aside its sheath. Thaddreus had recovered by then, but skidded to a halt, gripping the inner doorframe lest he impale himself upon the Sword’s tip. Awash with the euphoria the talisman unleashed within her, Marisha advanced, forcing him back into the receiving chamber, her first thought that Pagus needed her.
The young chief herald had done a remarkable job against those trying to kill him. The swordsman assigned to her, along with Elder Ashwar, had come up behind Thaddreus and were ignoring the lad, but it was still two to one against him. As she rejoined the fray, Pagus tore his knife from where it twisted in the side of the pikeman, then slipped a strike from Elder Emric before gashing the man’s leg from behind. Whirling around in the same movement, Pagus plunged his blade into the Elder’s heart.
The dagger came free, and the boy searched for his next target. He froze, however, upon seeing Marisha with the Sword. In that moment’s delay, the pikeman seized him from behind, pressing the haft of his weapon against Pagus’s throat and pinning the lad tight against his armored chest.
Pagus thrashed and squirmed as Emric, who should have been dead, rose from his knees. The Elder did not strike right away, but looked to Thaddreus. When Thaddreus nodded, Emric reversed grip upon his own dagger and threw a forearm across the boy’s stomach, blade leading. Pagus’s belly opened, and steaming entrails spilled forth.
Marisha screamed against the gag in her mouth. Pagus’s eyes watered asthey remained locked on hers. His knife slipped from his hand. When he tried to speak, only blood poured from his lips.
The pikeman held firm until the body went slack, then let it slump to the floor.
“See what you have done, my lady?” Thaddreus teased, retreating toward the fallen boy while all four of his henchmen fanned to either side.
Eyes still fixed on the ghastly sight, Marisha kept the Sword raised and held her ground, even as the noose tightened.
“Surrender the blade, and the same need not happen to you. We can make it quick, and for the most part painless. Else we can suffocate you with your own screams.”
Marisha reached up to tear at the gag, but it was too tight. Meanwhile, the guardsman who had tied it tested her defenses. The Sword swept out, driving him back, before arcing around to discourage Ashwar, on her opposite flank. Both men sneered, yet their hatred was unmistakable.
She let the gag be, knowing that she would never loosen the knot with a single hand, and gripped the Sword with both.
Thaddreus continued to mock her. “Come, my lady, you are no swordsman.”
Neither are you , she thought, recalling her earlier exchange with Allion.
But her own doubts weighed on her. She was a healer, not a fighter. She knew the basic forms of dagger and shortsword, but her meager skill did not encompass broadswords. Even with two hands upon its hilt, the Sword of Asahiel felt much too big for her, its heft and reach awkward and unwieldy. Were it not for its divine influence, she was certain she would already be dead.
She tried at once to banish the thought. She knew from experience—both hers and Torin’s—that the blade acted as an extension of the bearer’s will. Only the gods could tell her how, exactly. But she understood well enough to know that the weapon’s power would not compensate for her own uncertainty.
“Perhaps you mean
“No!” he shouted through his own gag, lunging from beneath the pike and drawing his knife.
As the others looked to the boy’s distraction, Marisha rolled to her knees and elbowed her captor in the mouth.
Pagus’s muffled cry spurred her on. “Run!”
Her hands and feet dug at the carpet as she raced toward her bedchamber. Thaddreus had a step on her, but he too had stopped to look back on his captives. His hesitation allowed her to barrel past with a shove, leaving him to stumble and trip on his robes.
Once inside the next room, she seized the Sword and tossed aside its sheath. Thaddreus had recovered by then, but skidded to a halt, gripping the inner doorframe lest he impale himself upon the Sword’s tip. Awash with the euphoria the talisman unleashed within her, Marisha advanced, forcing him back into the receiving chamber, her first thought that Pagus needed her.
The young chief herald had done a remarkable job against those trying to kill him. The swordsman assigned to her, along with Elder Ashwar, had come up behind Thaddreus and were ignoring the lad, but it was still two to one against him. As she rejoined the fray, Pagus tore his knife from where it twisted in the side of the pikeman, then slipped a strike from Elder Emric before gashing the man’s leg from behind. Whirling around in the same movement, Pagus plunged his blade into the Elder’s heart.
The dagger came free, and the boy searched for his next target. He froze, however, upon seeing Marisha with the Sword. In that moment’s delay, the pikeman seized him from behind, pressing the haft of his weapon against Pagus’s throat and pinning the lad tight against his armored chest.
Pagus thrashed and squirmed as Emric, who should have been dead, rose from his knees. The Elder did not strike right away, but looked to Thaddreus. When Thaddreus nodded, Emric reversed grip upon his own dagger and threw a forearm across the boy’s stomach, blade leading. Pagus’s belly opened, and steaming entrails spilled forth.
Marisha screamed against the gag in her mouth. Pagus’s eyes watered asthey remained locked on hers. His knife slipped from his hand. When he tried to speak, only blood poured from his lips.
The pikeman held firm until the body went slack, then let it slump to the floor.
“See what you have done, my lady?” Thaddreus teased, retreating toward the fallen boy while all four of his henchmen fanned to either side.
Eyes still fixed on the ghastly sight, Marisha kept the Sword raised and held her ground, even as the noose tightened.
“Surrender the blade, and the same need not happen to you. We can make it quick, and for the most part painless. Else we can suffocate you with your own screams.”
Marisha reached up to tear at the gag, but it was too tight. Meanwhile, the guardsman who had tied it tested her defenses. The Sword swept out, driving him back, before arcing around to discourage Ashwar, on her opposite flank. Both men sneered, yet their hatred was unmistakable.
She let the gag be, knowing that she would never loosen the knot with a single hand, and gripped the Sword with both.
Thaddreus continued to mock her. “Come, my lady, you are no swordsman.”
Neither are you , she thought, recalling her earlier exchange with Allion.
But her own doubts weighed on her. She was a healer, not a fighter. She knew the basic forms of dagger and shortsword, but her meager skill did not encompass broadswords. Even with two hands upon its hilt, the Sword of Asahiel felt much too big for her, its heft and reach awkward and unwieldy. Were it not for its divine influence, she was certain she would already be dead.
She tried at once to banish the thought. She knew from experience—both hers and Torin’s—that the blade acted as an extension of the bearer’s will. Only the gods could tell her how, exactly. But she understood well enough to know that the weapon’s power would not compensate for her own uncertainty.
“Perhaps you mean
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