Heirs of the Fallen: Book 04 - Wrath of the Fallen by James A. West Read Free Book Online

off his outer robe and gently bundle Nola into it. When finished, he glanced up, urgency lighting his black eyes. “We need a healer, or she won’t live out the day.”
    “Yatoans are a strong race,” Damoc said, as if trying to convince himself.
    “Be that as it may,” Sumahn growled, “she needs proper care.”
    “Adu’lin’s palace in Armala will surely have what we need,” Belina advised.
    Damoc followed her gaze. Rubble cascaded down the slope hundreds of paces. Beyond the destruction, the lush green forest rose up to block the view of the city.
    “We must hurry,” Sumahn warned. “Carrying her as we will have to, it could be a journey of hours.”
    Daris looked in the opposite direction. “What of the others—Ulmek, Leitos, Adham?”
    Sumahn was already lifting Nola, cradling her like an infant against his chest. “If they live, they will know where to find us.”
    “But they might be hurt or buried,” Daris insisted.
    “Search them out,” Sumahn said, and turned away. Damoc hobbled along after the young Brother, using his stick to help pick out a safe path.
    Belina stood undecided under Daris’s questioning stare. Her sister was her life, much as each of them were Damoc’s. But since she had grown old enough to fully understand her visions of Leitos, and long before she had learned his name, he had always been in her thoughts. Of late, those dreams and visions had fled her, but Leitos remained, a man of shadow and steel, of blood and death, and somehow the hope of the world.
    At last she said, “Help me find Leitos.” She wished she had her sword and bow, but the sheathed dagger at her hip would have to do.
    Daris nodded, and they set out toward the ruins of the Throat of Balaam.

Chapter 9
     
     
     
    Adham was not sure how he and Ulmek had gotten out of the Throat. They had been shuffling along the glowing blue corridor, when everything became brighter than the sun. There had been a terrible roaring noise that grew until it surpassed hearing. Next thing, he and Ulmek were coming awake, both sprawled over broken rocks like clothes for drying. That baffling journey, though, was the least of his concerns.
    Grimacing, Adham closed his eyes. His head felt crushed, along with most of his ribs, but he had taken few serious injuries. Scrapes, mostly, and a good many bruises. He would heal soon enough. Such was a gift of the Valara line, something to do with his father being present when the Well of Creation was destroyed.
    “For near on three lifetimes of men,” Adham said, slumped on a leaning pillar of rock, eyes squinted against the harsh sunlight, “I’ve fought the Faceless One and his minions, never knowing the enemy was my own father.”
    “Don’t be a fool,” Ulmek said, as he ripped another strip of cloth off the hem of his robe and wrapped it around a gash on his arm.
    “Is that the way of the Crimson Shield,” Adham asked, “refusing to openly name your foes? I could expect as much from Ba’Sel, mad as he is now, but not from you. We both saw Kian, and the only fool here is he who denies it.”
    Ulmek turned his flinty black eyes on Adham. “My Brothers and I have always fought the Bane of Creation, Izutarian, the same as you.”
    “Your point?” Adham knew what he had seen in the Throat of Balaam. Kian Valara, once the mighty King of the North, sitting upon a throne as black as his accursed heart. Adham’s sole comfort was to believe his father had somehow been tricked into becoming the most ruthless enemy humankind had ever known.
    Ulmek glared at him. “My point, as if it needs to be spoken, is that the Faceless One wields the Powers of Creation in unimaginable ways. I expect the man we saw was an illusion. Either that, or you and your people are complete dolts, and blind on top of it, to have missed the enemy standing in your midst for so long.”
    Adham’s scowl softened. He desperately wanted to trust in Ulmek’s belief, but he had known too many folk who deluded