Gathering Of The God-Touched (Book 4) by Ron Collins Read Free Book Online Page A

hands of a magical ward-beast. “That would be fitting, eh?” he said to himself.
    What dangers were the Koradictine and Lectodinian god-touched mages finding?
    He stood up and waved the magelight of his dagger before him.
    This tunnel curved in a lazy spiral further upward. He climbed until he came to a place where the passage suddenly opened to a platform like a stairwell might open to a roof, and where brilliant light blinded him.
    He blinked and shaded his eyes from the blazing light with one hand as his sight adjusted.
    It was as if the room had been sliced cleanly from the mountain, leaving the peak floating in open air above. The floor was smooth and polished, as was the ceiling above. They both reflected the sunlight that streamed through the non-existent walls as natural as day.
    This, Garrick realized, was the chamber atop God’s Tower.

Chapter 15

    “Looks like it should crush us, doesn’t it?”
    Garrick whirled to find a man standing behind him. He wore a blue shirt with white laces running up the front, tanned breeches that clung to him like a second skin, and gemstones that glittered from his fingers. His dark hair was cut short along the top and sides but flowed down his back in a cascading river. His cheeks were sunken. Dark circles ringed his eyes.
    “And you would be?” Garrick said.
    “Parathay,” the Lectodinian said with oily smoothness. “Commander, lover of books, and occasional mage. At your service.”
    The Lectodinian bowed with a flourish, then gave a cold grin.
    “Marvelous place for a battle, isn’t it?”
    The Lectodinian’s spell came so quickly Garrick barely had time to cast a barrier. It was weak, but enough. The Lectodinian’s magic was cold as ice, bold and strong. It was also exploratory, an early volley meant merely to test him.
    Garrick glared and struck a defensive pose. He brought life force up to support his shield as Parathay strolled about him with a confident swagger.
    “You thought I would wait for Jormar?”
    “It seems only appropriate.”
    “Koradictines are always late. It will be their eventual downfall, you know? They have no discipline, no vision.”
    “And what, I wonder,” Garrick said, “would the Koradictine say about you?”
    A throaty voice came from behind Garrick.
    “He would say they have no creativity.”
    Garrick instinctively rolled to the side and came to one knee as a bloody flash of fire blasted by him.
    “Greetings, Jormar el’Mor,” Parathay said. “So good to see you.”
    The Koradictine was a large man, fleshed out as if he rarely left an empty dinner table. His bulging red robe flowed around him like a skirt. A yellow sash rode up over his ample gut.
    They glowered at each other. These were the most powerful mages on the Adruic plane, and it was obvious they could barely stand to be in the same room together.
    “Best friends, I see.”
    “Common goals make great partnerships,” Parathay said as he cast another bolt of cold energy at Garrick.
    Garrick’s shield throbbed, and his hands grew numb.
    “And when those goals are no longer common?” he said.
    “We’ll address that when it becomes necessary,” Jormar responded.
    The Koradictine spoke thunderous words. Lightning flashed, and Garrick tumbled to avoid a shower of sparks redolent with the odors of burnt honey and curdled blood.
    Where Parathay’s magic was cold and hollow, Jormar’s carried overwhelming heat and vitality.
    Sweat beaded on Garrick’s brow. He retreated to give himself space, totally on the defensive, now. His life force dwindled, and the other mages seemed to be just now warming to their work. He needed a moment, so he latched onto his link and cast flames at Parathay.
    The Lectodinian caught the spell with one hand, then kneaded its energy like clay between his palms until it was a ball of brilliant blue light that he eventually absorbed, the energy simply seeping into his skin until it was gone.
    Parathay grinned at Garrick.
    “Quite tasty,”