Caprion's Wings by T. L. Shreffler Read Free Book Online Page B

the massive
chamber lay steeped in shadow. The chipped, worn floor appeared
discolored in places, and Caprion's eyes lingered on the dark
stains. Blood, sunken into the rough rock after centuries of
spillage.
    A group of forty soldiers lingered at
the center of the chamber, Sumas not yet among them. By the shape
of their helmets, Caprion could see that most were second-year
soldiers, the new cadets his brother had mentioned.
    "I'll mingle at the back," Talarin
murmured. "Be quick, alright? An hour tops, before anything
potentially dangerous happens."
    "Of course," Caprion murmured, already
spying a corridor toward the back of the room, barred by an iron
gate. The most likely route to the prisons. He could slip through
the shadows between the jagged sunstones and make his way, unseen,
as long as the soldiers remained distracted.
    Talarin left his side and strode
casually into the room, coming to an inconspicuous stop near the
rear of the soldiers. No one seemed to notice or care about her
arrival. A few of the cadets nodded to her, but they all seemed too
nervous to say much. Caprion watched from the shadows of the
corridor, waiting for the ideal moment to slip along the back
wall.
    Then the distant iron gate slid open.
Caprion crouched low to stay hidden. He recognized Sumas' large
wings and barrel-chested armor. His brother strode through the gate
and into the room.
    A tall, angular woman entered after
him. Warden Dahlia, he assumed. She had a sharp face with a pointed
kind of beauty—as Talarin described, a hawk of a woman. She wore
armor embedded with sunstones, her wings folded tightly against her
back, a long leash in hand. Behind her, ten slaves entered the
chamber with their heads obediently bowed. A thick iron chain
linked them together at the neck, with sunstone shards embedded in
their metal collars. The slaves looked terrifying: old, skeletal,
grimy and underfed, with sunken cheeks and claw-like hands that
were discolored by permanent scars. More like corpses than
people.
    Caprion stared. He could barely
identify them as the Sixth Race. Premature gray flecked their hair,
their life seeping out with each ragged breath. Their eyes were
completely white, totally blind.
    The soldiers fell silent. They moved
to stand at attention, falling naturally into rank.
    “At ease,” Sumas said casually, then
paused for Warden Dahlia to take her place at his side.
    Caprion's eyes moved to the open gate
that led to the dungeons. Two granite pillars stood between himself
and the gate. They would offer enough cover for him to slip past
the soldiers and into deeper shadows where he could continue to the
hallway. Still, too many eyes roamed the chamber. He would need to
wait for a distraction.
    Sumas cleared his throat assertively.
"Before you stands a line of the Unnamed," he began. “The Sixth
Race, the children of the Dark God, creatures of Shadow and Fire.
None of you have seen one before.” Sumas smirked. He began to pace.
“Back at the conception of our race—when we were molded by Wind and
Light and placed under the care of our God, the One Star—we were
given a duty. A duty to preserve peace and order in the world. To
vanquish evil from the land and to destroy the Dark God's
children.”
    "Tonight," he continued,
"we initiate you into the sacred practice of our kind. These
methods were passed down long before the Great Fall, before even
the city of Asterion was built, before the Island of Aerobourne
ever took to the skies. Tonight, you become true soldiers—defenders
of the realm of Wind and Light.” Sumas’ voice echoed around the
chamber, gaining strength and volume. “You will become deft with
magic; you will use your voice in battle and learn to blind the
Sixth Race with your wings. You will learn to kill them, and do so
efficiently, before they can kill you." Sumas gave the soldiers a
long, hard stare. "These slaves are weak specimens of their kind,
but do not be fooled. Our enemy is dangerous, deceitful, and