The Thief's Tale by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online

dry and rough. Something soft and clinging covered her face and throat, and she tried to pull it off. But her shaking hands would not obey, and only after five tries did she reach her face, her fingers brushing her cheek and jaw.
    She could not see anything in the blackness, but she recognized the feeling of the delicate threads she plucked from her face.
    Cobwebs. She was pulling cobwebs from her jaw.
    A wave of terrible exhaustion went through her, and a deeper darkness swallowed Calliande.
     
    ###
     
    Dreams danced across her mind like foam driven across a raging sea.
    She saw herself arguing with men in white robes, their voices raised in anger, their faces blurring into mist whenever she tried to look at them. 
    A great battle, tens of thousands of armored men striving against a massive horde of blue-skinned orcs, great half-human, half-spider devils on their flanks, packs of beastmen savaging the knights in their armor. Tall, gaunt figures in pale armor led the horde, their eyes burning with blue flame, glittering swords in their hands. 
    The sight of them filled her with terror, with certainty that they would devour the world. 
    “It is the only way,” she heard herself tell the men in white robes, their faces dissolving into mist as she tried to remember their names. “This is the only way. I have to do this. Otherwise it will be forgotten, and it will all happen again. And we might not be able to stop him next time.”
    She heard the distant sound of dry, mocking laughter.
    A thunderous noise filled her ears, the sound of a slab of stone slamming over the entrance to a tomb. 
    “It is the only way,” Calliande told the men in white robes.
    “Is it?”
    A shadow stood in their midst, long and dark and cold, utterly cold.
    “You,” whispered Calliande. 
    “Little girl,” whispered the shadow. “Little child, presuming to wield power you cannot understand. I am older than you. I am older than this world. I made the high elves dance long before your pathetic kindred ever crawled across the hills.” The shadow drew closer, devouring the men in the white robes. “You don’t know who I truly am. For if you did…you would run. You would run screaming. Or you would fall on your knees and worship me.”
    “No,” said Calliande. “I stopped you once before.” 
    “You did,” said the shadow. “But I have been stopped many times. Never defeated. I always return. And in your pride and folly, you have ensured that I shall be victorious.”
    The shadow filled everything, and Calliande sank into darkness.
     
    ###
     
    Her eyes shot open with a gasp, the cobwebs dancing around her lips, her heart hammering against her ribs. Again a violent spasm went through her limbs, her muscles trembling, her head pulsing with pain.
    Bit by bit Calliande realized that she was ravenous, that her throat was parched with thirst.
    And she was no longer in the darkness.
    A faint blue glow touched her eyes. She saw a vaulted stone ceiling overhead, pale and eerie in the blue light. The air smelled musty and stale, as if it had not been breathed in a very long time. 
    She pressed her hands flat at her sides, felt cold, smooth stone beneath them.
    On the third try she sat up, her head spinning, her hair falling against her shoulders. 
    She lay upon an altar of stone, or perhaps a sarcophagus. The altar stood in the center of a stone nave, thick pillars supporting the arched roof. The blue light came from the far end of the nave, near an archway containing a set of stairs. 
    Calliande sat motionless for a moment, listening to the silence.
    She had no idea how she had gotten here. Nor, for that matter, did she know where she was.
    And, with a growing sense of panic, she realized she could not remember who she was.
    Calliande, her name was Calliande. She knew that much. But the details of her past turned to mist even as she tried to recall them. Shattered, broken images danced through her mind. Men in white robes, warriors