Phoenix Rising by Ryk E Spoor Read Free Book Online Page B

hide him as he scuttled across the room. The tail and feet were hideously close and threatened to crush him with every stride, but Duckweed was committed now.
    The mazakh reached the table and pulled out his cutout-backed chair, appropriate for a tailed creature; the Toad moved completely under the chair as Lassish sat down. “Finally the Summoning, and we’re stuck here,” the human grumbled, opening his warcard box and checking the positions; the four had apparently been in a match when Duckweed’s impromptu knock had interrupted.
    “Gladness I feel; wisdom for you, likewise should you feel.” The insectoid’s voice was a buzz and chatter. He also smells very tasty. Tough, though, probably.
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because, smooth-skin, a Great Summoning is perilous even for the trained. Sometimes, despite all the sacrifices and preparation, the mazolishta demands more than was expected . . . and then the Summoners must restrain it, or become sacrifices themselves.”
    Mazolishta? Duckweed had heard the word before, but never thought he’d have heard it in a real, living context. Great Blackwart, they’re summoning one of their Ruling Demons !
    The human’s voice was tense. “What? Are you telling me that what we’re calling up might just decide to eat our souls instead of help us?”
    Hissing laughs. Duckweed eased himself from under the chair and moved along under the table. These guys have gotta be guards. And that means . . . yep, there’s an opening back there, an archway.
    “Did you think dealing with one of the mazolishta was safe? ”
    “I figured the boss knew what he was doing.”
    “Possibility granted; present in this location, is not the ‘boss.’”
    As they were focused on their conversation, Duckweed cautiously made his way out from under the table. Now that he knew what was going on, there was even more urgency. He glanced behind him and shifted his line a bit, trying to keep the wider form of the human between himself and the others as he moved towards the archway. He could see several alcoves on each side of the passage.
    Duckweed gave a silent sigh of relief, letting himself sag down so he looked like a brown puddle with warts for a moment, as he reached the first alcove and ducked around the corner, now completely out of sight of the four guards. Inside the alcove were several strongboxes with crude locks holding them shut. But not tightly shut. They’ve got enough slack, I think, so I could get the top open a little.
    He was able to insert his little sword between the top and bottom and lever upward, the lock and hasp allowing slightly less than an inch of opening. Peering in, he saw rows of cushioned spheres of glass with reddish liquid inside. The liquid appeared to glow very faintly.
    The little Toad shivered. He knew what that had to be. Fire essence. Cases of it. They’re armed for a war. Against us? One case of that would be enough—most of us wouldn’t fight, just run. But north of here . . .
    It was insane, of course. The Artan —elves, as the humans called them—of the Forest Sea might be the youngest of the Great Races, but they had proven how tenacious and indomitable they were as soon as they had appeared. Still . . .
    He lowered the top of the case quietly and withdrew his sword. Can’t open that without making noise. Let’s check the other alcoves.
    He systematically searched the other three, taking care to not be seen as he quickly moved from one to the other. More weapons, lots of them, varied in style and type. He paused to admire one rack of Zachass , wristblade launchers, with their intricate clockwork mechanisms that allowed the mazakh to fire several of the balanced, circular blades in quick succession. Duckweed loved clockworks and other complicated devices. Gears, levers, springs, pulleys, little assemblies that moved in precision . . . he’d built a few clumsy devices along those lines himself, but the parts that made up these were works of art. Deadly