Read Online Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) by Steven Kelliher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven Kelliher
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were now clasped around its throat. It twisted and wrenched like a trapped animal and Kole poured his fire into it.
He collapsed when it was done, the flames extinguished in an instant. He looked around with blurred vision and found himself at the center of a charred circle, the roots all burned away.
Kole retrieved his smoking blades and staggered through the brush in the direction Shifa had gone, holding his bloodied arm to his chest. He found her breathing shallow on the edge of a muddy stream the color of rust. He lifted her and she whimpered softly, the echoes of the demon’s dying careening in his skull as he walked on unsteady legs.
The rest passed in a haze of pain, and the feeling of pursuit never dissipated, though the demon had burned like birch, its face curling in the flames. His blood felt slow and stagnant, the darkness around him close and stifling, and his mind wandered, delirious. He moved with a singular focus as he fell to ruins on the path back to Last Lake.
He reached the gate without knowing. Torches waved and boots splashed in the mud, carving the night with light and sound as they approached in a fervor. Kole tried to speak, but his voice failed along with all sense. He collapsed in a space between wake and sleep, and lingered there awhile.
A long while.
T he smell of hot mint and sage assailed Linn’s nostrils when she opened the door, and the voices she had heard from outside muted upon entering. She wafted the steam out of her face and took stock of the gathering in the guts of the modest bathhouse.
There was an elderly man dressed all in green: this was Towles, the proprietor; he was nicknamed ‘Trusted’ for reasons Linn hoped were well founded. Linn’s sudden appearance caused him no untoward alarm as he bent back to his work, pulling a lever that announced a jet of steaming water—and another flush of mint—the pipes rattling their protests as they emptied the mixture onto a large grate covered my smooth, black river rocks.
The latest cloud parted to reveal the handsome face and close-cropped hair of Jenk Ganmeer, who sat on an oak bench slick with residue. He smiled lightly at her, features warping strangely in the shimmering heat.
“Ve’Ran,” he said. “Fashionably late.”
The other men and women, who sat in their various places between and around the benches and steaming grates, regarded her with a discomfiting assortment of expressions. But these were the faces of soldiers she knew well.
“It’s a gift,” Linn said, setting her bow down in a pile with the rest of the weapons—a considerable set—before making her way toward the front of the small room. As her nerves built to a steady, screaming crescendo, an image of Kole’s black, unseeing eyes set into a face drained of all color flashed. She could not shake it, just as she could not shake the sounds of her sister’s silent sobbing as she had worked over him in the tower.
“We’ve been dragging our feet long enough,” she said, forcing a layer of calm into her voice that she did not feel. “It’s time we made good on our talk and left.”
There was a pregnant silence of which Jenk was at the center. The Ember stood and moved to her side, rewarding her with a curious expression as he turned to address the rest.
“These aren’t the type of people you can push, Linn.”
Linn ignored him and studied the gathered soldiers. It was unlikely Larren Holspahr held any great opinion of her either way. He kept his own council, but her keen eyes had saved plenty throughout the Dark Months, and that was something he would not forget. In fact, it was likely all that had brought him here to her summons when he could have been resting for the following night and whatever terrors it might hold. Larren’s spear dealt the final blow to the beast that had smashed the gate, but she could tell the experience had rattled him. That was good.
To the right of Holspahr sat Nathen Swell, her hunting companion whose jovial
He collapsed when it was done, the flames extinguished in an instant. He looked around with blurred vision and found himself at the center of a charred circle, the roots all burned away.
Kole retrieved his smoking blades and staggered through the brush in the direction Shifa had gone, holding his bloodied arm to his chest. He found her breathing shallow on the edge of a muddy stream the color of rust. He lifted her and she whimpered softly, the echoes of the demon’s dying careening in his skull as he walked on unsteady legs.
The rest passed in a haze of pain, and the feeling of pursuit never dissipated, though the demon had burned like birch, its face curling in the flames. His blood felt slow and stagnant, the darkness around him close and stifling, and his mind wandered, delirious. He moved with a singular focus as he fell to ruins on the path back to Last Lake.
He reached the gate without knowing. Torches waved and boots splashed in the mud, carving the night with light and sound as they approached in a fervor. Kole tried to speak, but his voice failed along with all sense. He collapsed in a space between wake and sleep, and lingered there awhile.
A long while.
T he smell of hot mint and sage assailed Linn’s nostrils when she opened the door, and the voices she had heard from outside muted upon entering. She wafted the steam out of her face and took stock of the gathering in the guts of the modest bathhouse.
There was an elderly man dressed all in green: this was Towles, the proprietor; he was nicknamed ‘Trusted’ for reasons Linn hoped were well founded. Linn’s sudden appearance caused him no untoward alarm as he bent back to his work, pulling a lever that announced a jet of steaming water—and another flush of mint—the pipes rattling their protests as they emptied the mixture onto a large grate covered my smooth, black river rocks.
The latest cloud parted to reveal the handsome face and close-cropped hair of Jenk Ganmeer, who sat on an oak bench slick with residue. He smiled lightly at her, features warping strangely in the shimmering heat.
“Ve’Ran,” he said. “Fashionably late.”
The other men and women, who sat in their various places between and around the benches and steaming grates, regarded her with a discomfiting assortment of expressions. But these were the faces of soldiers she knew well.
“It’s a gift,” Linn said, setting her bow down in a pile with the rest of the weapons—a considerable set—before making her way toward the front of the small room. As her nerves built to a steady, screaming crescendo, an image of Kole’s black, unseeing eyes set into a face drained of all color flashed. She could not shake it, just as she could not shake the sounds of her sister’s silent sobbing as she had worked over him in the tower.
“We’ve been dragging our feet long enough,” she said, forcing a layer of calm into her voice that she did not feel. “It’s time we made good on our talk and left.”
There was a pregnant silence of which Jenk was at the center. The Ember stood and moved to her side, rewarding her with a curious expression as he turned to address the rest.
“These aren’t the type of people you can push, Linn.”
Linn ignored him and studied the gathered soldiers. It was unlikely Larren Holspahr held any great opinion of her either way. He kept his own council, but her keen eyes had saved plenty throughout the Dark Months, and that was something he would not forget. In fact, it was likely all that had brought him here to her summons when he could have been resting for the following night and whatever terrors it might hold. Larren’s spear dealt the final blow to the beast that had smashed the gate, but she could tell the experience had rattled him. That was good.
To the right of Holspahr sat Nathen Swell, her hunting companion whose jovial
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