Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains by Jeremiah D. Schmidt Read Free Book Online Page B

tossed back an indigo scarf, and
topping the braids of her winter-blonde hair was a black top hat
that matched her knee-high boots, both in color and buckled
adornments.
    “And you are?” barked the aristocrat
testily. He disliked the way the six men surrounding him were
glowering like buffoons. He was tired of all these people meddling
in his affairs, especially when it was neither appreciated nor
wanted. He had figured out his plan of action, and the means to
salvage the rest of his life, and these brigands were going to ruin
everything if the Empire showed up and found them here.
    “It’s Abigail,” the girl stately plainly, as
though that were a name that meant anything to Drish at all.
“Abigail Fellkirk.”
    “Abi—” he was in the process of shrugging
away this nonsense, when he stopped. Of course. It was the
same tawdry girl from the tavern, and he felt his heart lurch with
conflicting emotions. He remembered the way her eyes had glistened
with empathy just a few brief hours ago; and the way she dashed his
ego just as quickly when she’d uttered his father’s name. “Abigail,
yes, it’s just…I didn’t recognize you.”
    “Yeah, without the hideous makeup.” She
smiled back lightly.
    Drish discovered he was glad she was free of
it as well, finding her actually quite lovely in the plain; the
light chestnut hue to her naked face nearly flawless. “That, by the
way,” she added, “was your father’s bright idea of going unnoticed …but we can talk all about that later; after you’re
safe.” She reached out and grabbed hold of his hand.
    Drish was surprised. He expected her hands
to be soft, but they were anything but. Instead they were calloused
and held an undeniable strength.
    “Anyway,” Abigale looked relieved, “I’m just
glad we got to you first.”
    “First... for what?”
    “So we can get you out of here before the
Empire comes. Your father’s filled me in on what you’ve done—”
    “Done?” Drish wasn’t exactly sure on what
she meant by that. Could Arvis already know his plan to betray the
Resistance? The man knew Drish held absolutely no sympathy for the
insurgents, but he had only just written his confession… My
confession. Drish felt a sudden upwelling of panic, and he
clenched the note tightly. If just one of these bandits spotted it
he was finished.
    “Yes,” she gently squeezed his free hand in
appreciation. “And we owe you so much because of it. We were able
to move key players in time; and now, let’s get you to
safety.”
    Safety —he shook himself free. “No, I
can’t go.” Drish backed away from the cluster of hooligans, and as
he neared his desk, he dropped the note into the waste basket, but
it hit the rim and fell to the floor. Drish was horrified when
Abigail laughed.
    “What…” she said, holding out her arms, “do
you have engaging plans you’re not telling us?” She scanned the
pirates surrounding them, each chuckling back in a compulsory way.
“Now if what your father told me is true, then you’re in grave
danger, and you’d be a fool not to come with us. I thought you’d
understood that by the way you flew from the tavern last night. You
looked like a dead man after we talked.”
    “This is all very touching,” interrupted
Bazzon, “but I really didn’t risk flying into King’s Isle, and
sneaking into Throne for some sort of heartfelt reunion. Now pack
up your crap, Drish, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
    “No…I’m not going,” stated the aristocrat
defiantly. “You don’t understand.”
    Lance stepped in, jostling everyone aside
with his cumbersome equipment. “Listen,” he explained breathless,
“we can’t stick around here much longer. I’m starting to pick up
some garbled radio-chatter that sounds an awfully lot like
positional orders.”
    “Right,” agreed Bar. “Okay, we don’t have
time for this anymore; I promised your father I’d get you out, so
let’s get.”
    “Well, you’ll have to