Read Online The Rift War by Michelle L. Levigne - Free Book Online Page B

destruction. As Mrillis had told her often, it was a matter of imaging what
she wanted, understanding it, and then reshaping energy so her will became reality.
    "I have no fear for your skill or your maturity," Mrillis said softly, breaking his silence
that had lasted nearly three hours. "As you will prove again and again. And now."
    "Grandfather, do the people of Quenlaque remember--"
    "Ah...excuse me?" Grego waved to get their attention. "What's that smell?"
    Emrillian sniffed and understood the worried, slightly disgusted look on Grego's face.
The rancid stench became stronger with every step their horses took. Rotten meat, mixed with
musk and sulfur.
    "Rixils," Mrillis said. He shook his head. "Edrout is being exceptionally childish, putting
them in our path."
    "Why?"
    For a moment, he couldn't answer as their mounts reacted to the stink of the rixils and
they had to fight to calm them. Mrillis looked only irritated when he snapped his fingers, sending
a shower of blue sparks to touch the horses. Emrillian felt the calming of his magic, dulling the
beginning of terror in the animals.
    "Are rixils as bad as the legends say?" Grego asked. "Or can we just assume their smell
is the worst part?"
    "Yes, just as bad. But only between the ages of ten and twenty." Mrillis glanced at
Emrillian, a calculating light in his eyes. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever her
grandfather would ask her to do next. Irritation flared through her. He could deal with the
creatures without much effort, but he would have her do it to test and prove to herself that she
was ready.
    "Why's that?" Grego pressed.
    "That is their breeding age. Nursing mothers are the most dangerous of any
creature."
    "Can I assume we will both need magic to fight this?" Emrillian asked.
    "If there are more than three, yes." Mrillis signaled, and they slowed their horses. A few
packhorses snorted and bobbed their heads, resisting the magic that kept them still. Emrillian
wondered how much magic it would take to calm the animals during the coming
confrontation.
    "Grandfather," she said, feeling only exasperation, "rixils have litters of twenty at a
time."
    * * * *
    "Why so many?" Grego blurted. He faced straight ahead, trying to glimpse the rixils
before they leaped.
    Legend said rixils had beaks like birds of prey; greasy, harsh fur of black or muddy
brown; prehensile tails tipped by a poisonous sting; and paws sporting four razor-sharp claws
each. They loped on four legs but went upright in battle. Grego shivered at the thought of facing
those creatures without an energy blaster.
    "They have so many at each birth because the strong kits eat the others when they stop
nursing." Mrillis drew back on the reins of his mount. Grego followed suit, gusting a sigh of
relief that they wouldn't ride any further into danger. "Swords and shields this time."
    "Swords? Aren't we using magic?" Grego winced when his voice cracked.
    "We are," Emrillian replied. "Magic only works in equal measure with your control over
it. If there are many rixils, there may be too many for you to consciously attack. A sword in the
hand would have saved many Rey'kil in the past, who depended completely on magic."
    Grego waited until she wedged her torch in a crevice in the rock wall beside them before
he followed suit. One rule from their training days had been to always keep one person on guard
while the others were busy with tasks. He released his torch with a feeling of regret and
swallowed hard, trying to control an urge to shout, or turn tail and run. From one of the bulky
packs, Emrillian brought out two long, triangular shields. One, she handed to Grego, and kept the
other. Both looked like they had gone through hard service, toughened by experience. Grego
hoped so. If worse came to worst, he could use the lower point of his shield as an additional
weapon. The length would provide more coverage. He had won a decent share of his tournament
trials, but that hardly seemed adequate