Dreams of Darkness Rising by Ross M. Kitson Read Free Book Online Page A

we’d discussed this to death? You’ll be signing us up for the Artorian Knights next and going out to hunt trolls in the Wastes.”
    “Technically we wouldn’t be eligible for the Knights as they only recruit from old Artorian lines,” Jem said.
    Hunor rolled his eyes as Jem began one of his lectures on the ancestry of the various orders of Knights in Nurolia. They were nearing the end of Gilder Road. Then out of the shadows of an alley he spotted a lean figure nodding towards him.
    Hunor nudged his companion, letting his hand rest on his dagger. Jem stopped mid-conversation and peered towards the alley.
    “Six in the alley. There are also two on the roof with crossbows.”
    Hunor nodded. He could sense the mage preparing a defence and considering all the various escape options. Hunor prayed Jem wasn’t planning a fizzy wall; his stomach was griping enough after the food in the Rose Tavern.
    The lean man crossed the street and stood before the pair. He was remarkably ugly. His lumpy face was crisscrossed with scar tissue. One eye was glass and clearly hadn’t been cleaned in a while.
    “A good Leafstide to you both. My master was wondering if you’d be gracious enough to give him twenty minutes of your time?”
    Certain that both crossbows were trained on his head Hunor produced his most charming grin.
    “Kind yeoman of mighty Kir, you catch us at a slight disadvantage. I am afraid as mere traders and strangers in this ancient city we can’t think who would want to waste their valuable time with our exceptionally dull company.”
    The lean man gave a lopsided leer, his mouth evidently restricted by his scars.
    “Why Guildmaster Linkon invites you and he’s not a man who is readily refused, good trader.”
    Jem sighed as he saw Hunor’s eyes twinkle.
     
    ***
     
    The guild house of the West Avenue thieves had once been a great library. Its robust walls were designed to convey an air of tranquillity, felt in the hey day of the Azaguntan Cabal to facilitate learning. Those aspirations were now as dusty and decayed as the nation that had believed in them and the many centuries since had seen a new knowledge come to the Azaguntans—that of crime. And as the ethos of a nation had evolved so the western library had twisted and changed. Partition walls, wooden screens, newer bricks and mortar had divided the long chambers into a warren of rooms and passages, some overt and some secret. Different spans of aging plaster—yellowed by the continued haze of tobacco smoke—covered the walls patchily like the skin of some leprous ghoul.
    Hunor’s distaste at the place was clearly magnified a thousand-fold in his particular companion. Jem’s nose was curling to the point of becoming a snout and his moustache twitched like a nervous rabbit.
    Their guide, the scarred man from Gilder Road, was leading them through the passages. They passed several rooms where groups of burly men sat playing Kirit’s Eye. All were armed and most rooms had racks of crossbows, oiled and ready. Jem took it all in as he walked behind Hunor, logging all their positions should the need arise to flee.
    They paused at the base of a staircase whilst the scarred man talked to two thugs. Jem felt a tingle in his head and glanced to the left.
    In the shadows of the staircase was a man, perhaps in his late thirties, with dirty blond hair. He was dressed in an untidy white shirt and leather pants and was muttering something to himself. Jem sensed the magic in the air around him; he was another Wild-mage.
    Hunor nudged Jem. The scarred man had begun to ascend the stairs and the two thugs stared at the pair. Hunor slipped past them with a wink, followed by Jem.
    The door at the top of the stairs was heavy oak and reinforced with iron bands. Another two ruffians, clearly with a hint of goblin in them, stood guard. They parted to allow the trio through.
     
    ***
     
    Hunor and Jem entered an expansive chamber. The room was perhaps thirty feet wide by forty