Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy) by Sam Bowring Read Free Book Online Page A

howled soundlessly and swooped towards Losara. Losara sent his own blast of wind, catching the creature’s wings, too late to stop it slashing a rent in his arm. The shadow in his veins did not fall as blood would, but retreated into his arm, leaving the sliced flesh pale and exposed, quivering. It still hurt, and Losara gritted his teeth as he increased the strength of his wind. He waved his wounded arm into shadow and back again, re-forming it without sign of injury, though it ached within. The Graka whirled away, through the long window, out over Fenvarrow.
    ‘Next!’ said Battu, and his stony finger tapped on a twisted little tendril. Mud poured from it onto the floor, where it bubbled and spread.
    ‘Remember your lessons, boy,’ he said. ‘A conjured creature will take on the attributes and behaviour of the thing on which it is based. Hence a Graka will be vulnerable to wind. As for a Mireform . . .’ The puddle rose. ‘It will be resistant to magical attack.’
    The Mireform gurgled, and a tendril-tongue sloughed out of its mouth.
    ‘That may be true,’ said Losara, ‘but from what I understand, swords still work.’ He waved his fingers, and from the throne guards six swords sprang up and flew across the room. The Mireform swung at them with bandy limbs and seeking tendrils, but for each it batted away, the rest flew back in. The blades whirred to a flurry and the creature collapsed beneath them, spattering Battu with chunks of mud.
    ‘What else?’ asked Losara. He had the distinct impression Battu was toying with him. Maybe it would buy him enough time to find a way to defeat the dark lord.
    ‘Look down,’ said Battu.
    Water rose out of the floor. It frothed like the sea, creeping quickly up Losara’s legs. For a moment he enjoyed the pleasantly chill sensation, forgetful of his circumstances . . . but then he snapped back to where he was, angry with himself.
    Battu touched a beady eye staring out of Refectu. Losara wasn’t certain what creature it belonged to, but thought he could guess. The water rose past his chest, past his face, filling the room. He could just make out Battu sitting on the throne, blurry through the dark water. A sleek shape appeared over Battu’s shoulder – the silhouette of a shark. It cruised towards him with a gaping maw. He fell to shadow and caught the swirling current, which carried him off around the room.
    I saw you conjure a tornado once , came Battu’s voice in his head. Let’s see how you fare with a whirlpool.
    Several more shark-shapes stole into the room, one snapping right out of the wall as Losara passed. It caught something of him, and he felt a wrenching as part of him was torn away, lost, like the corner of a piece of parchment.
    Sharks are at home in the shadows , said Battu. You can’t hide by making yourself one. They can smell you, boy.
    Two long bodies charged at him from either side and he fled upwards, ducking and weaving from place to place, making himself as small and fast as he could. More shark-shapes filled the room, until they would have been jostling for space had they not been shadows able to move through one another. Losara felt like a fly buzzing in a stew of gnashing teeth. He needed something to break Battu’s advantage.
    Slow down, my boy , came Battu’s voice, and Losara felt the shadows around him thicken. Battu was able to control them in this room just as he had done in the dining hall – except that in water, shadow was everywhere. Losara felt barriers closing in, impeding his progress. He was a fly caught in toffee, and in a moment he would be swallowed. A dead throne guard floated past, seeming to accuse with empty eyes. Then the body jerked away, dragging limply in dark jaws.
    Desperation brought a desperate idea, and he dropped into physicality once more. As mouths came towards him and jaws began to close, he sent out a shockwave of energy all around, electrifying the water. Shark-shapes rolled, jerking and churning. His