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Zanna 9

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It wasn’t the first day of the month, but after a day of food poisoning, Zanna needed a swim in the holy waters.  She wore a dark grey linen robe, as she did most times she bathed out here, and spoke quietly with Pralla Maga-sha as they swayed across the gentle waves together.  The old woman was quiet today, but a slightly stronger wind made up for it.

The other priestesses used long poles, sinking down into the mud, to guide them along the surface.  They paused twice to ask for Zanna’s opinion, and to attempt a divination of whether these particular waves held the magic element, the healing liquid that they sought.  As usual, Zanna opted to near the lake’s center, to avoid the public eye should it be watching from the shore.  She inhaled as Pralla spoke, but the air barely smelled of the incense burning in lavish silver bowls at the skiff’s corners. Continue reading Zanna 9

Renado 15

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The grey waters were slowly displaced by the hull of Captain Urro’s ship as they crossed those last few miles toward the mysterious isle.  It was morning, not dusk, but the land was as still and lonely as it had seemed when it was just a spec on the horizon.  The star charts were accurate, but would any map of the ocean save Lerran’s ebbing life?  Renado leaned over the bow railing and watched the salt waves give way.  He turned and looked down the length of the craft.  Tassina and Woodro stood near the Captain, at the helm of Storm.  Would he vanish, once more?  Or perish in a more permanent sense?

“We’ll anchor soon,” Ren told his comrades as he climbed the steps to the half-deck where Storm’s wheel was built.  “And, if they let us, we’ll take a rowboat to the shore.” Continue reading Renado 15

Aralim 50

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Two statues guarded the wide stairway from the first floor of Fortress Marana to the second. The statues were taller than the height of a man, with curved necks and narrow, pointed faces. Each had a long protrusion of flesh from their scalps, hanging down their backs with pointed patterns that were either decorative or functional.  Aralim had no idea what they were supposed to be, aside from some form of gargoyle to invoke fear into the people.  Of course, all the soldiers were decorated with similarly grotesque and unnatural sculpting on their armaments. Continue reading Aralim 50

Renado 14

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“How is he?” Ren asked.  He leaned on the side-rail of Storm as they charged across the dark tide of Comet Cove.  He had sailed these waters hundreds of times aboard the Dispatch.  Vanci’s ship had been swift, but compared to Captain Urro’s galley, it was only mediocre.  Ren had been Vanci’s first mate for five years under Gharo’s authority.  When last he chopped through these warm waves, his entire world had changed unbeknownst to him. Continue reading Renado 14

Aralim 49

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Fortress Marana was the home of operations for the military of Numa’nakres, an enormous stronghold built into the walls of the Iron Palace grounds which allowed access to both sides.  It held a barracks for Rema’s garrison of the Royal Army in the lowest stories, and provided meeting place and training chambers for the martial arts and armaments of the elite fighting force on the upper stories, while overlooking the grounds and the city through four sturdy watchtowers.  General Ro both resided and worked here, for three days a week.  The other two were spent attending the First Court, of course. Continue reading Aralim 49

Arn 17

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The enormous corridor was built by contorted swamp reeds, soft under Arn’s bare feet, and the roof of tree branches obscured the sky from view.  There were three things in the corridor with Arn—his spear, a stream of liquid water than ran along the wall, and a water scale, a reptile that clod along beside him.

Where am I? Arn wondered.  Is this the dreamworld? Continue reading Arn 17

Renado 12

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Ren woke up quietly, pursing his dry lips.  His throat was sore.  He blinked and shook his head.  He was sitting on the floor and had fallen asleep against the dark wooden wall behind him.  He looked around the small inn room in the Royal Rogue and let out his breath in a long sigh.  Tass was asleep on a pile of cushions, her dark green gown wrinkled and her hair dishevelled, while Woodro sat in a chair near the window, looking down into the river canyon that cut through Sheld.  The warrior was not asleep, but didn’t notice Renado’s awakening. Continue reading Renado 12

Aralim 48

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The Eternal Emperor was standing in an area close to the centre of the Iron Palace. Amidst all the columns there was a structure in the middle, and, like many other spots under the pillar-supported roof, this one had been converted into a living area of sorts.  A low dark wooden table, with a perfect varnish and decorative gold vines sprawled throughout a design around the edge, obstructed the way through the space. Around it were cushions to lounge on, but the Emperor was leaning against a column nearby when Aralim arrived.  He looked up, his keen eyes examining Aralim as the Aura left the Walker in the royal presence. The book clapped closed.  “It’s hard to find new material,” Tag’na murmured and tossed the book down on the table. Continue reading Aralim 48