The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key by Eldon Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

the worn velvet chairs beside the hearth, turned so that she faced Torin. “Is that how you would describe my patient vigil here?”
    Torin thought back to their encounter moments ago. “If you intended no harm, why lunge at me like some rabid animal?”
    “You appeared to be fleeing,” Darinor replied as he folded Marisha’s own delicate hands in her lap. All the while, she continued to gaze up at him as if worried he might disappear before her eyes. “And I’ve come a long way to see you.”
    Torin opened his mouth to object, but realized he could not disprove the other’s account. That it might be true caught him off guard. “Me?”
    “But I thought…” Marisha squeaked, eyes glinting with hurt and confusion.
    Darinor sandwiched her hands in his and crouched low, gazing deep into her eyes. He said nothing, but held that pose for another long moment. When finally he arose, he kept one hand gripped reassuringly upon her shoulder.
    At long last, he turned to face Torin, and at once, the bearded face curdled in accusation. “You are Torin, are you not? King of Alson, savior of Pentania, wielder of the last known Sword of Asahiel.” His lip curled in mockery—and in satisfaction, Torin thought, at his listener’s helplessness. “Thus, it is you I seek.”
    Torin’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. Nevertheless, he felt he had to say something in order to deflect the other’s penetrating gaze. “You seem to know a great deal about me,” he admitted. “Once again, you have me at the disadvantage.”
    “Perhaps. I know your story, for your countrymen speak of little else.Then again, I dare not believe this common account by half. Despite certain evidence, there are details of which I am skeptical, and many others that are altogether missing.”
    Torin peered past the speaker to Marisha, who still looked betrayed.
    “But we’ve not the time needed to explore them,” Darinor went on, his tone made sharper by Torin’s inattention. “Your foolishness has seen to that.”
    “Am I to unravel these riddles?” Torin responded crossly. “Or should I but stand here and remain their target?”
    Marisha turned in his direction. “Torin, please…”
    This time, however, Torin remained focused on Darinor. For a moment, he felt the other meant to strike, and as one hand slipped down from the Sword’s pommel to clasp its hilt, the weapon flared slightly, revealing his anticipation. A slow smirk drew tight the elder man’s thin lips, as he appeared to come to a decision.
    “Save your strength,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “You will need it for your journey.”
    “And just where is it you think I’m going?”
    “To restore that which you have destroyed. Else to the grave, here and now, before you take the rest of us with you.”
    “Enough!” Marisha shouted, springing from her chair and seizing her father’s arm in restraint. “I’ll listen to no more of this from either of you. Torin, if you would have your answers, sit and be silent. As for you, Father…” Her voice cracked, yet remained authoritative. “You will explain your presence here, or you will leave at once.”
    Torin fumed a moment longer, then dipped his head in apology to his lady love. With a hawk’s eye upon Darinor, he moved to the nearest available chair, across the hearth from Marisha, and sat, laying the Crimson Sword across his lap.
    “Then listen closely,” Darinor admonished them, when Marisha had retaken her seat and he alone stood so as to face the pair. “For our enemies multiply as we speak.”
    “What enemies?” Torin urged, glancing sidelong at Marisha.
    Darinor ignored him, brow twisting as if considering where to begin his narrative. “You must know something of the Swords of Asahiel,” the sallow-faced man determined, “else you would not be holding one now.”
    Torin merely nodded, but Darinor’s look prompted him to elaborate. “Forged by the Ha’Rasha and imbued with the divine power of the Ceilhigh, to be