They had beaten Arn surprisingly little. From the grotesquely armoured guards, he had received only two cracked ribs, bloodied lips, and a black eye. From the pot-bellied—and rather clumsy—jailor, he had received a gash to his hand from a dull knife used to tighten a screw in a shackle. And, from the sickness in my mind, Arn thought, I’ve received the worst wound of all. He had lost his freedom—what measure of it he had possessed as a slave. Continue reading Arn 69
On the day of Miresh’s 14th birthday, Aralim had still not heard from the Emperor. He gathered with his friends—and hers—in order to celebrate another incredible year, but he found himself distracted while they ate. He had made Sunaza speak, but still Tag’na had not summoned him. He couldn’t have been disappointed in the amount the corrupt lord had divulged, could he? Continue reading Aralim 138
The siege of Starath had changed little when Crar, the Merchant of Orm River, arrived by war galley. Arn only knew of his presence by a report from one of Master Quenden’s other servants. In a word, he was told it would be time “soon.” Arn had only kept training—pretending to have not heard the report. Continue reading Arn 68
Sea’s Sword cut across Comet’s Cove toward Sheld. They would arrive this afternoon, according to the ship’s crew. Sheld was not one of their ambassadorial targets, but it was an important city on the coast of Radregar. Farek had heard little of the city since the Matriarch’s plan to swindle Lo Mallago from the crime family had been played out. Supposedly the city of Sheld now belonged to the Grey Brethren, but it was unclear how. Continue reading Farek 85
The trace of sunlight was stained with smoke from the thousand-fold lights of Rema, casting salmon and orange into muted shades of themselves. Aralim hoped it was late enough—he hoped that the Emperor, like the mysterious Tarro, would be trapped in his home, withered by the centuries he had endured. He hoped he might come home to Miresh before he faced the consequences of his journey. Continue reading Aralim 137
Streamlets of clear mountain water dripped down the sides of the moss-caked ravine. A cave-opening smiled narrowly and widened only for a gathering of the creeks into an underground river. The waters likely emerged farther down the mountain slopes and joined with the Opal Valley’s lake. Old stone steps were cut into the southern face of the gorge; an old, greying rope linked a dozen rusty metal posts. Continue reading Aralim 136
Mildly frustrated, Aralim marched up the zigzagging road as it climbed the Opal Valley slope. Going one way, he looked back toward the Monastery of Illumination—which had been anything but illuminating in his search for the vale’s mysterious “prisoner.” Going the other way gave Aralim a wide view of the Valley, the distant town of Vagar where he had arrived, the gleaming lake, and a few other landmarks he had not yet reached. It was a lot of terrain to cover in a search saturated with uncertainty and ignorance. Continue reading Aralim 135
Insects filled the air with buzzing as they zipped by on tiny wings. Aralim walked along the quiet, mossy brook as he headed toward the Monastery of Illumination, where the Forest Seers held their meditation. It had been a long day already, but Aralim walked with a spring to his step. The Emperor’s Aura had not stopped him from exploring the Opal Valley, so it was only a matter of time before he learned more about the Emperor’s Path, or his own. Continue reading Aralim 134
The mouth of the Opal Valley was guarded by scattered copses of various wide-leafed trees and maze-like trails of shrubs. A river wove through the field-lands, spilling out from a woodland-ringed lake that spread along the bottom of the vale. A dozen streams bubbled down the three adjacent mountains in thin, silvery falls. Aralim tread over a narrow wooden bridge as he wandered along the road; a mountain breeze stirred the droplets of water from one such lake tributary and dropped them into the grey streaks of his beard. Continue reading Aralim 133
Life aboard the Sea’s Sword was a little tight—no one had accounted for quite this many guards when they were planning the voyage—but Farek didn’t mind. Whether he was mincing witty insults with Lord Sha, awkwardly stammering his way around his hallway encounters with Miss Roek, or playing ten-card draw with his veritable gang of henchmen, Farek’s spirits were higher than they had felt in months. He loved to travel, and the stress of his present voyage would not sink in until he reached the mainland. Presently, the ship was sailing through the always familiar waters of the Orrish. Continue reading Farek 84