Journey into the Void by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online

he said.
    â€œI will come, as well. Strange customs these city people have,” Fire Storm added with a shrug. “Building houses for people to crap in.”
    Jessan was about to say that he’d changed his mind, he didn’t need to go that badly, when the Grandmother gave a screech that nearly lifted the hair off his head. Glaring at Fire Storm, the Grandmother struck him in the chest with the agate-eyed stick.
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    Ulaf heard the Grandmother scream, an eerie, primal sound like the shrill scream of the mouse caught in the hawk’s claws or the rabbit pierced by an arrow. The awful sound sliced through the noise of the tavern, caused a startled serving maid to drop a mug, and stopped the conversations of every person in the room. Shrieking in fury in her own language, the Grandmother struck the Trevinici, Fire Storm, in the breast with the agate-eyed stick.
    The stick shattered in her hand, broke asunder. Agate eyes rolled and bounded across the floor, but no one paid them any attention. The Trevinici began to undergo a hideous transformation. The leather breeches and leather tunic he wore disappeared. The reddish hair and the stern, unsmiling face of the Trevinici warrior dropped off, the flesh rotting, revealing a horribly grinning skull. Armor, black and fell as the Void, flowed over his body. A black helm slid over the bony skull. Black gauntlets covered skeletal hands.
    I was right, Ulaf thought. The gods help us!
    The people in the tavern sat for a moment in stunned silence, then pandemonium ensued. Few knew what this evil creature was, but all knew that it was born of the Void and that where it walked, death and destruction followed. Some tried to flee, others tried to hide. Everyone cried out or screamed, leapt up or shrank down, fell over chairs or tried to dive under tables. Shadamehr’s people looked at the Vrykyl, then at each other, then at Ulaf.
    He had a split second to make a decision. He was competent in magic, but he could never hope to fight the deadly Void magicks of a Vrykyl.
    â€œThrow things at him!” he roared above the chaos. “Keep him occupied!”
    Ulaf brought the words of the spell he’d been planning to cast to mind, spoke them aloud. The magic tingled in his blood. He pointed at the floor beneath the Vrykyl’s feet and magic flowed from him. The floorboards began to heave and buckle. The Vrykyl lost his balance, crashed to the floor.
    Shadamehr’s people picked up crockery, bowls, plates, bottles, jugs, whatever came to hand, and hurled them at the Vrykyl. Plates smashed on the black breastplate, ale sloshed over his helm. The crockery barrage would not do him any harm, but it might rattle him, keep him from casting his own magic.
    Ulaf was not a tall man. He couldn’t see above the heads of the crowd, most of whom were on their feet, either fleeing or fighting. He had lost sight of Jessan in the chaos, couldn’t see what was happening to him or the pecwae.
    Ulaf dared not waste time searching for them. Commending them all to the gods, he ran behind the bar, thrust open a door and dashed up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. He crashed through another door and ran out onto the roof. Several patrons were already in the streets, shouting for the guards. Men-at-arms would be no match for the Vrykyl. Ulaf searched the darkness, straining his eyes.
    And there they were. Six battle magi in full regalia—the most feared wizards in New Vinnengael, perhaps on the continent of Loerem. Only the best and strongest and most disciplined wizards were chosen by the Church to become her champions. Skilled in wielding both steel and magic, they were not only formidable wizards, but among the best swordsmen in the military. They fought as a unit, pooling their magical skills to forge spells that had the power to decimate a regiment.
    A white aura surrounded them, for they were using their magic to light their way through the dark city streets.