Blood of Mystery by Mark Anthony Read Free Book Online

the
Worldsmith, who bound it in the Dawning Stone at the very
beginning of the world. And so the First Rune shall also be
the Last Rune, for when it breaks, the world shall end....
    Disturbing as they were, it was not these lines that froze Grace’s blood. Instead, it was the three words penciled hastily, almost desperately, in the margin next to them:

    “No,” Grace whispered. “No, it can’t be.”
    She dug in the pouch tied to her sash, pulled out the silver half-coin, and shoved it across the table. Again she looked at the book. Even though she could still read it with effort, the text on the page was now strange and archaic-looking, written in Eldhish letters. But the penciled words were written in English.
    Eyes wide, Grace looked up. This was impossible. And there was something else. There was something about the words in the margin—the way the letters were shaped—that disturbed her even more. Only what was it? She stared at the window, thinking. Outside, the red star gazed back like a fiery eye.
    The eye blinked shut.
    Paralyzed, Grace kept watching, waiting for the crimson spark to shimmer back to life.
    Nothing happened. Dread flooded her chest. Trembling, she rose and moved to the window. There were no clouds. The moon was a great sickle, and stars scattered the night sky like shimmering chaff. But where the crimson spark had shone moments ago there was only a black void in the heavens.
    The red star—Tira’s star—had vanished.
    Grace jumped at a sharp knock on the door. After a moment she gathered her wits enough to stumble to the door and fling it open. It was Falken.
    “Melia wants you. Downstairs.” The bard’s eyes were every bit as startled as she knew her own to be.
    They found Melia at the table where they took their meals when rain precluded dining in the courtyard. The lady looked up, the expression in her amber eyes far too deep for Grace to fathom. Aryn and Beltan appeared moments later.
    The knight yawned. He was clad only in a long nightshirt. “What’s going on? I was dreaming about ale. And not the feeble stuff they make down here, mind you, but real, Galtish ale—the kind that socks you in the gut, then picks you up off the floor, puts a strong arm around you, and walks you back to the bar, grinning all the way.”
    Aryn adjusted the diaphanous robe she had thrown on and frowned at the blond man. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming about Galtish men rather than Galtish ale?”
    “Either way, I’d still rather be sleeping.”
    “What’s going on, Melia?” Falken said.
    Melia’s visage was tightly drawn. “I was hoping Grace might have an idea.”
    Aryn glanced at Grace.
What is it, sister?
    “Tira’s star,” Grace croaked aloud, struggling for breath. “It’s gone.”
    They talked as the crescent moon arced outside the high windows. Melia’s kitten soon made an appearance, prowling across the table, begging affection from each of them in turn. At some point the servants must have come in, for cups and a steaming pot of
maddok
appeared on the table. Grace gladly accepted a cup when Aryn handed her one. Despite the balmy night, she felt cold.
    Of them all, only Grace had actually been gazing at the red star the moment it vanished—although Melia had evidently noticed its disappearance within moments, given how quickly Falken came to Grace’s door. Unfortunately, none of them had an explanation for what had happened.
    Aryn’s blue eyes were bright with worry. “You don’t think... you don’t think Tira is...”
    “She’s a goddess, dear,” Melia said, her tone reassuring. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
    Beltan scratched his chin. “What about the Stone of Fire? Tira was supposed to protect it. What if she’s lost it? That would be bad, right?”
    “More than bad,” Falken said. “It would be disastrous. The Pale King still seeks the Stones of Fire and Twilight to set beside the Stone of Ice in the iron necklace Imsaridur. And his master, Mohg, is trying