Dark Gods Rising by Mark Eller, E A Draper Read Free Book Online Page A

choice, do I?”
    Seeming regretful, Larson shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not, but Simta, think of all the good you will do. Think of the men and women who will go home to their families alive and unscathed to kiss their spouses and hold their children, all because you helped us stop Malaria.”
    Larson stoked her cheek. The calluses on his hand felt rough against her tender, tear soaked skin, nothing like the hands of other Yernden nobles. Unlike Larson, those prigs knew little about an honest day’s work or sacrifice. Unlike them, Larson’s hands bore the scars of many battles. A long puckered line ran down his left check, marring the perfection of his looks. Both brothers were handsome beyond words, but she could always tell the twins apart even without the scar. Where Calto’s face was arrogance and cold justice, Larson’s was a sun-kissed summer day. Warmth and joy danced over his strong features. Why couldn’t he have asked her to marry him? Why had her father never presented him as a choice? After all, Larson was still unmarried, and though they were cousins, they were not closely related.
    With the world weighing down her head, Simta gave a weary nod and became limp within Larson’s embrace. It was all just too much for her. In this one night, she felt as if she had aged twenty years, all her youth gone in an agonizing stripping of her soul.
    “Good. Now get out of here!” Calto snapped. “And you had better be at the Dancing Unicorn tomorrow, Simta, at nine bells.” Calto’s eyes narrowed. Something unnatural stirred behind them, something powerful, something Simta knew she dared not break a promise to.
    * * * *
    Exhaustion still pulled at every muscle in Simta’s body. She checked her appearance in the mirror one last time before leaving her room to meet Malaria in the commons below. Getting ready had been almost unbearable, her limbs felt too heavy to apply her makeup and put her hair into its customary array of dark red curls atop her head as best she could without servants. Heavy, but she had gotten it done, gotten dressed, and was leaving to attend her own farewell party. At least it was how she felt as she left her room and headed for the stairs. From the top of the stairs, she saw and heard a number of party goers just coming into the Dancing Unicorn, resplendent in all their finest dresses and pants and waist coats. Only two more nights of the festival remained. Simta knew these partiers were trying to get in as much debauchery and as many drunken revelries as they could in a short time. With such dark happenings upon the land, the people of Yernden needed every excuse they could find to rejoice, to forget the hellborn who dared walk in the open, and forget the hellhounds who chewed on friends and neighbors in dark alleys. The citizens of Yernden needed these five days to push back the trappings of Hell that were slowly consuming the very life force of its inhabitants with rumors saying King Vere contemplated changing his allegiance away from the seven virtuous gods to give it to the Two.
    Sweat trickled down what little cleavage Simta owned, making her dress’s silken green material cling in an itchy, uncomfortable way. Her shoes, pointed prisons of torture, were not what she would have chosen for such a dire meeting, but she had to dress the part Calto had given her. Men’s traveling boots would have looked out of place with the rest of her finery. If she had to run for her life, she was as good as dead. One small consolation was the blade strapped to her calf. With it, she could cut her shoe’s laces and rip them from her feet when a moment presented itself. Even barefoot was better than what she presently wore.
    Although people were arriving, the commons room wasn’t overly crowded yet. Good thing. The knights had planned a special show just for Malaria, a show Larson promised the demon would never forget. Her eyes scanned the crowd trying to figure out which were the knights and