Read Online The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within by J. L. Doty - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. L. Doty
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Metadan enter the cell. Metadan’s anger was almost palpable, but Gilguard looked at him with a calm, cold hatred, though when he spoke his voice came out almost a whisper. “Why?” he asked simply.
Morddon shrugged. “They started it. I finished it. Besides, it was seven to one.”
The Benesh’ere warmaster nodded slowly and for a long moment he considered Morddon’s answer. “I’ve spoken to the innkeeper, and he confirms that my warriors did start it, and they did outnumber you seven to one, otherwise I would kill you myself.”
Morddon smiled gleefully. “Would you like to try? I’d like to see you try, but you’d better have more than seven of your comrades to help you.”
The guard with the crossbow tensed. Metadan looked at him and shook his head.
Gilguard shook his head at Morddon. “No, I don’t want to try to kill you, and not just because I probably couldn’t win. I just want to know why you take your hatred out on your brothers.”
“I don’t have any brothers,” Morddon growled.
“Two of them are dead,” Gilguard continued as if Morddon had said nothing. “Another lost an arm last night, and another a leg this morning, and the other three: broken arms, legs, ribs, noses, jaws, skulls. Do you feel no remorse?”
Again Morddon shrugged. “They picked a fight, and I know of only one way to fight.”
“Is it that simple?” Gilguard asked. “From what I’ve seen you’re the best fighting man I’ve ever come across, though to look at you one would not know it—you look rather scrawny and underfed—but single-handed you take on seven of my best warriors, kill two and nearly kill the rest, and to you it’s just a brawl. Is it that you fight anyone you can, any place, any time, for any reason? Is it really that simple?”
Morddon shook his head. “Nothing’s that simple.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I don’t care to.” Morddon looked at Metadan. “You’ve questioned the innkeeper? You know I was minding my own business, and it was not I who picked the fight?”
Metadan nodded without expression.
“Then I’m free to go?”
“You’re free to go,” Metadan said. “But go straight to the legion’s barracks. Tomorrow, at dawn, we leave for the wars.”
Morddon threw back his head and laughed. “Finally! Now I can have some peace.” And with that he brushed Gilguard aside and walked out of the cell.
Gilguard frowned, looked carefully at Metadan. “Going to war will bring him peace?” he asked, and his frown deepened.
Metadan nodded, though as always there was no expression on his face. “That one’s soul is a curiosity to me. And each time I meet him, my curiosity deepens.”
~~~
The voice, soft and gentle, was the only thing in Morgin’s universe, and even though exhaustion and fatigue threatened to devour him, he struggled onward, following it blindly in the vain hope of a respite from the constant battle within his heart.
“Morgin . . . Morgin . . . Morgin . . .”
Cautiously he opened his eyes, parted his lips and tried to swallow, but a coarse, gritty dust caked his mouth and throat. The sword!
As if his thoughts were a trigger the sword flared in his hands, lifted itself high over his head and screamed its hatred at him. He pulled at it with weary muscles, threw his own hatred at it and forced it to the floor where it bit into the stone and raised another shower of chips. Again it grew silent.
Fatigue clouded his mind, but he understood he was on his knees in the center of the Hall, with the sword gripped in both hands before him, trying to control it with no power. How long? he wondered. How long have I held it so?
“Two days and nights,” Rhianne said softly.
He was glad for the sight of her, even if she was a hallucination.
She shook her head. “No. I am real.”
I’m sorry, he thought, thinking of all the years of pain he had given her. He struggled constantly just to hold onto consciousness.
Rhianne shrugged. “We were
Morddon shrugged. “They started it. I finished it. Besides, it was seven to one.”
The Benesh’ere warmaster nodded slowly and for a long moment he considered Morddon’s answer. “I’ve spoken to the innkeeper, and he confirms that my warriors did start it, and they did outnumber you seven to one, otherwise I would kill you myself.”
Morddon smiled gleefully. “Would you like to try? I’d like to see you try, but you’d better have more than seven of your comrades to help you.”
The guard with the crossbow tensed. Metadan looked at him and shook his head.
Gilguard shook his head at Morddon. “No, I don’t want to try to kill you, and not just because I probably couldn’t win. I just want to know why you take your hatred out on your brothers.”
“I don’t have any brothers,” Morddon growled.
“Two of them are dead,” Gilguard continued as if Morddon had said nothing. “Another lost an arm last night, and another a leg this morning, and the other three: broken arms, legs, ribs, noses, jaws, skulls. Do you feel no remorse?”
Again Morddon shrugged. “They picked a fight, and I know of only one way to fight.”
“Is it that simple?” Gilguard asked. “From what I’ve seen you’re the best fighting man I’ve ever come across, though to look at you one would not know it—you look rather scrawny and underfed—but single-handed you take on seven of my best warriors, kill two and nearly kill the rest, and to you it’s just a brawl. Is it that you fight anyone you can, any place, any time, for any reason? Is it really that simple?”
Morddon shook his head. “Nothing’s that simple.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I don’t care to.” Morddon looked at Metadan. “You’ve questioned the innkeeper? You know I was minding my own business, and it was not I who picked the fight?”
Metadan nodded without expression.
“Then I’m free to go?”
“You’re free to go,” Metadan said. “But go straight to the legion’s barracks. Tomorrow, at dawn, we leave for the wars.”
Morddon threw back his head and laughed. “Finally! Now I can have some peace.” And with that he brushed Gilguard aside and walked out of the cell.
Gilguard frowned, looked carefully at Metadan. “Going to war will bring him peace?” he asked, and his frown deepened.
Metadan nodded, though as always there was no expression on his face. “That one’s soul is a curiosity to me. And each time I meet him, my curiosity deepens.”
~~~
The voice, soft and gentle, was the only thing in Morgin’s universe, and even though exhaustion and fatigue threatened to devour him, he struggled onward, following it blindly in the vain hope of a respite from the constant battle within his heart.
“Morgin . . . Morgin . . . Morgin . . .”
Cautiously he opened his eyes, parted his lips and tried to swallow, but a coarse, gritty dust caked his mouth and throat. The sword!
As if his thoughts were a trigger the sword flared in his hands, lifted itself high over his head and screamed its hatred at him. He pulled at it with weary muscles, threw his own hatred at it and forced it to the floor where it bit into the stone and raised another shower of chips. Again it grew silent.
Fatigue clouded his mind, but he understood he was on his knees in the center of the Hall, with the sword gripped in both hands before him, trying to control it with no power. How long? he wondered. How long have I held it so?
“Two days and nights,” Rhianne said softly.
He was glad for the sight of her, even if she was a hallucination.
She shook her head. “No. I am real.”
I’m sorry, he thought, thinking of all the years of pain he had given her. He struggled constantly just to hold onto consciousness.
Rhianne shrugged. “We were
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