The Shield of Weeping Ghosts by James P. Davis Read Free Book Online

away. Thaena and Duras had become a dream and Ulsera a nightmare. Seeing his old friends both now made that dream more real and his nightmare even more so—the memory that he had been the one to send Ulsera to her death.
    The snow grew deeper as they walked, the footsteps before and behind Bastun growing louder and more forced. Even in the wind he could hear the return of the whispers. Glancing over his shoulder, Bastun saw Syrolf striding close on his heels as if leading an angry mob, which he likely did. The fang called him prejhenovani, or “one who summons evil”—and considering the Nar attack, Bastun felt inclined to agree. Misfortune seemed a traveling companion he could not shake.
    He looked to each of the obelisks they’d passed before the ambush, and he contemplated the ash smeared in Nar symbols atop them. The warriors they’d fought could be the least of their worries if they encountered the author of those symbols.
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chapter Four
    (racks in the stone gatehouse were encrusted with ice unaffected by torches or the gathering warmth of so many bodies inside the lowest level. The stone had charred, but not so much as the structures within the third wall, the ones closest to the Shield where demons had swarmed among the flames and screams.
    Every few moments, when wind stirred the fog, the faint silhouette of the distant fortress appeared. Bastun marveled at the endurance of such a monument—hidden for so long, forgotten by the world—and shuddered at the thought of what lay buried inside.
    In a corner of the room, through a small arrow slit, he stared outside and listened for the voice of Thaena. She had taken a chamber upstairs to confer with Duras and Syrolf. It had been left to the rest of the fang to keep watch over the vremyonni while binding their wounds and using wychlaren salves to staunch bleeding. Their eyes, when they found him, left little to the imagination. They were Rashemi and Bastun had chosen not to be; the berserkers were rarely open-minded on the subject of loyalty. Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, close to a sizeable crack that reached from foundation up to the ceiling and beyond. The voices of the ethran and her warriors whispered through his mask.
    “Most of the fang will be fine,” Duras said, “and they shall
    be more than ready should we encounter a second ambush.”
    “That is one thing I think we can be sure of,” Syrolf said. “For all we know they could be on their way here now.”
    “No,” said Duras, “I don’t think they would brave pushing past the spirits we encountered to attack an enemy in a fortified position. At least, not until dawn.”
    “We will not wait for dawn,” Thaena said, her voice firm. “These Nar have moved too close to Rashemen. They threaten our outpost at the Shield.”
    “Is that not the least bit coincidental?” Syrolf asked. Bastun could hear him pacing as he continued. “That the Nar are here ? Now of all times ?”
    No one answered, and Syrolf stopped pacing. Bastun strained to hear, curious to know if these three knew something he didn’t—or more importantly knew something that they shouldn’t.
    “What do you mean?” Thaena asked.
    “Considering recent events and decisions made in—”
    “Just get to the point, Syrolf,” Duras said, an edge in his tone.
    “The vremyonni,” Syrolf answered. “No, I mean, the exile.”
    “You are suggesting that Bastun may be responsible for the Nar attack?” Thaena asked. “Ridiculous,” Duras said.
    “You haven’t even considered the notion yourself?” Syrolf said. “On the ship we were attacked by rusalkas—in the presence of an ethran, no less! Now here we find Nar tribesmen and our safe paths compromised by their magic? Go downstairs and see for yourself. Not a soul down there hasn’t considered that the exile is behind whatever is going on.”
    “There’s no point!” Duras said. “What could Bastun possibly gain?”
    “It is not my business to