Veil of the Dragon (Prophecy of the Evarun) by Tom Barczak Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Barczak
Mother.
Al-Mariam looked up from where she knelt in the hollow. The Mother stood alone upon the narrow path. The gentle blue of her shawl, set apart against her pale robes, shone like a jewel against the long and dappled shadows of the forest.
“Yes, Mother,” Al-Mariam replied as she lowered her eyes. She set her gathered timbers down and walked towards her.
The Mother reached out to her, her thin fingers barely visible beneath the sleeve of her robes as she touched her chin. “Come with me.”
“I’m honored, Mother.”
As Al-Mariam fell in beside her, her Teacher slid her arm around hers.
“Someone passed the Hallas Gate. Al-Aaron has returned to us.” The Mother raised her face, clearly waiting. “I see you have nothing to say to this.”
“What you would have me say?” Al-Mariam asked.
The Mother squeezed her hand. “Don’t mock me child, you are far too dear for that. Speak your heart. Isn’t that what you always do?”
Al-Mariam smiled inwardly at the Mother’s affection, tempered as always by the guilt of disobedience that burned within her. “I fear my heart fails me.”
“And it will, if that’s what you wish. But I choose to believe that grace is much wiser than either you or I may ever be. Its works are often, but not always, unseen. I have trust you will keep your vows.”
“But my heart hasn’t emptied of its need.”
“Nor should it, for its path is what led you here. But it’s not the only power that guides you. If it is, then fear for your brother you must, for he will surely perish. Our faith is everything, or it’s nothing. This is what you fail to understand.”
Al-Mariam sighed. “Then pray I may trust for now.”
“I do. The Younger will be here soon.” The Mother withdrew her hand, dismissing her. “Go and find Al-Thinneas. I’ve already sent him to welcome Al-Aaron, and the son of Malius whom he’s returned to us.”
C hapter Six
Shadow
Chaelus wiped his brow. Blood stung his eyes. Scars traced his arms from the path he’d cleared through the tangled wall of the forest.
He carried Al-Aaron over his shoulder. The boy had scarcely moved, waking only once since Chaelus had taken him into his arms and entered the woods. The boy’s words even then had only been as faint as his breath.
The forest itself was endless. The trees, ancient and bent, stood ever closer together. The sky, as well as the path they’d set upon, had disappeared. Tall pine had given way to the tangled branches of savage oak, their limbs hanging low and conspiring with the thick underbrush below.
The woods held silent save for the thrashing of his club, retrieved from the forest floor. No animal, bird, or creature spoke; perhaps driven off by the noise he made, or perhaps it was as it seemed, and nothing lived here at all. Shriveled berries and withered leaves were the only signs of life so far. Even the smell of decay and the vestigial carrion life it held had passed from here. Only void remained, like the void of death Al-Aaron had raised him from.
It shattered beneath the flickering red seal of a message, seen by the memory of a candle’s flame.
Chaelus’ fingers floated just above it, like they had when he’d received it; the summons from his exile with the Lossons. Chaelus’ touch lingered just above the seal of his father’s House, his chest tightening. Such a small thing to bring such dread upon his heart.
Chaelus shook his head until the vision fell away.
Al-Aaron moaned upon his shoulder through his fever-drawn haze.
Then the cold brush of winter fell.
Chaelus’ hand trembled over Sundengal’s hilt. Its blade, struck red with blood, lay where it had dropped through the snow between him and the crumpled form of his father. Baelus sobbed beyond him, his face turned into the snow, refusing to look. The other seven Roan Lords remained motionless around
Al-Mariam looked up from where she knelt in the hollow. The Mother stood alone upon the narrow path. The gentle blue of her shawl, set apart against her pale robes, shone like a jewel against the long and dappled shadows of the forest.
“Yes, Mother,” Al-Mariam replied as she lowered her eyes. She set her gathered timbers down and walked towards her.
The Mother reached out to her, her thin fingers barely visible beneath the sleeve of her robes as she touched her chin. “Come with me.”
“I’m honored, Mother.”
As Al-Mariam fell in beside her, her Teacher slid her arm around hers.
“Someone passed the Hallas Gate. Al-Aaron has returned to us.” The Mother raised her face, clearly waiting. “I see you have nothing to say to this.”
“What you would have me say?” Al-Mariam asked.
The Mother squeezed her hand. “Don’t mock me child, you are far too dear for that. Speak your heart. Isn’t that what you always do?”
Al-Mariam smiled inwardly at the Mother’s affection, tempered as always by the guilt of disobedience that burned within her. “I fear my heart fails me.”
“And it will, if that’s what you wish. But I choose to believe that grace is much wiser than either you or I may ever be. Its works are often, but not always, unseen. I have trust you will keep your vows.”
“But my heart hasn’t emptied of its need.”
“Nor should it, for its path is what led you here. But it’s not the only power that guides you. If it is, then fear for your brother you must, for he will surely perish. Our faith is everything, or it’s nothing. This is what you fail to understand.”
Al-Mariam sighed. “Then pray I may trust for now.”
“I do. The Younger will be here soon.” The Mother withdrew her hand, dismissing her. “Go and find Al-Thinneas. I’ve already sent him to welcome Al-Aaron, and the son of Malius whom he’s returned to us.”
C hapter Six
Shadow
Chaelus wiped his brow. Blood stung his eyes. Scars traced his arms from the path he’d cleared through the tangled wall of the forest.
He carried Al-Aaron over his shoulder. The boy had scarcely moved, waking only once since Chaelus had taken him into his arms and entered the woods. The boy’s words even then had only been as faint as his breath.
The forest itself was endless. The trees, ancient and bent, stood ever closer together. The sky, as well as the path they’d set upon, had disappeared. Tall pine had given way to the tangled branches of savage oak, their limbs hanging low and conspiring with the thick underbrush below.
The woods held silent save for the thrashing of his club, retrieved from the forest floor. No animal, bird, or creature spoke; perhaps driven off by the noise he made, or perhaps it was as it seemed, and nothing lived here at all. Shriveled berries and withered leaves were the only signs of life so far. Even the smell of decay and the vestigial carrion life it held had passed from here. Only void remained, like the void of death Al-Aaron had raised him from.
It shattered beneath the flickering red seal of a message, seen by the memory of a candle’s flame.
Chaelus’ fingers floated just above it, like they had when he’d received it; the summons from his exile with the Lossons. Chaelus’ touch lingered just above the seal of his father’s House, his chest tightening. Such a small thing to bring such dread upon his heart.
Chaelus shook his head until the vision fell away.
Al-Aaron moaned upon his shoulder through his fever-drawn haze.
Then the cold brush of winter fell.
Chaelus’ hand trembled over Sundengal’s hilt. Its blade, struck red with blood, lay where it had dropped through the snow between him and the crumpled form of his father. Baelus sobbed beyond him, his face turned into the snow, refusing to look. The other seven Roan Lords remained motionless around
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