“It’s time,” Halrum said. The man wore a small hood over his balding grey hair, further disguising his heavily bearded face.
Renado paused, panting for breath. He lowered the wooden sparring sword and leaned it across his knees. He looked at Asar, similarly winded from their training, and then at Woodro who had been spectating them. “Woodro, go get Karsef. Meet us on the road.” Continue reading Renado 38
If only Arn could drink the flakes of skin that fell off his neck. His burns had finally tanned, though Shar’s progress was a day or two behind. The burned skin was peeling off now, reminding Arn how thirsty his throat was and how dry his skin was. He lay on the raft and felt the tug of the water churning around them. They drifted across the Deep slowly, sluggishly. The raft was close to death, it seemed, or they had neared that part of the Deep. Continue reading Arn 47
The dealer scattered cards to each player, and the small audience fell silent. There were three players at this game, and each guarded a good-sized pile of coins, silver Vagren crowns. These were the sorts of people who won more than Renado ever had at cards and lived off those winnings. For them, the onlookers held breath and tried to sneak glances at their carefully hidden cards.
Ren stood across the table from the young woman, Ira, who had won the last two nights he’d watched her play. He glanced briefly at the other two players: a man with veiny arms sat next to the man in front of Ren, with his thick black beard and braided hair. Then he looked back at Ira. Continue reading Renado 37
The Mazaar and Lord Gallendris stood at the end of a stone pier, watching the pink waves of Raider’s Bay lapping against the barnacles that crusted the dock. As the wind whipped at the tails of Jannia’s stiff, uniform-like dress, the Mazaar was silent, waiting for her brother to reply. Farek looked up from the barnacles at the layers of clouds that obscured a blurry sun. At last he said, “I still don’t believe it. You really trust Paral?” Continue reading Farek 44
One of the floors above Aralim’s quarters, in the Tenth Tower, was entirely dedicated to a meeting hall. The stairs wove around the exterior of the room, leading up to another floor above. The ceiling was high, but not as high as the meeting halls were built in the distant city of Rema. Aralim’s lantern staff echoed as he walked across the short span of floorboards toward the oval meeting table. Continue reading Aralim 86
“So how are things?” Farek asked. He reclined in an armchair in Norrey’s Pub, his arm resting on the nearby window sill and a fine ale making a ring of condensation on the tabletop in front of him. He looked at his sister and smiled as she shrugged.
“I cannot complain. Dorean and I are practically inseparable these days,” Simi said. She hadn’t looked away from the small jewelry boxed she had only just opened. While she continued to smile at the twinkling sapphires that Farek had brought back for her, Farek turned to look at Dorean, the startlingly handsome man speaking with Norrey at the bar. Continue reading Farek 43
For a disconcerting moment, Arn’s eyes fluttered open and stared at the wide expanse of blue overhead in confusion. Where was he? When he sat up and looked at the bright blue waters all around them, his disorientation did not immediately fade. It simply changed from the question “Where am I?” to a different question altogether. Continue reading Arn 46
The wooden steps up to the front door of Nalisa Orr’s home looked even more worn before. Renado had not spoken with Irrith in almost two Moons—he lived in Vagren and slept slumped over a bar more often than not. He was being paid for it, so, by the gods, why not? He had divvied up the coins that Halrum brought his men each week, and that was the only responsibility he had.
Until the summons came. Ren followed Woodro up the steps to the front door of the organization’s safe house. The familiar tension between Ren’s warrior and the warrior of a fellow faction seemed to settle into a place that had been empty without it. Woodro’s shoulders rose, and his gait picked up. Ren felt a certain clarity form in his mind as he stared down Irrith’s usual bouncer, like a hole forming in the clouds. Continue reading Renado 36
Their journey eventually took Aralim and his friends out of the foothills and onto an enormous flatland that stretched far to the north and west of them. There was city down there, a hazy gathering of lines near the shining white light that was the Shrinking Sea. But opposite it, across the sunny, arid plain, was a glorious gathering of mountain peaks. The flatland sloped up, without foothills, to a great ridge with a hundred windswept points. “The Amirella Mountains,” Devran breathed. Dullah added that they truly were beautiful. Continue reading Aralim 85
The whispering of the camp had changed again, as it had changed many times around the cookfires on Razaad. Arn lifted a roasted chop of screecher meat to his nostrils and inhaled its oily smell. It was his third slice. Jorik’s blend of spices did wonders for the meat that Arn had once lived upon for a few Moons. He chewed on the meat and tried to listen to what they were saying. Continue reading Arn 45