Free Demonfire by Kate Douglas Page A

dust on the feet of demons in the overall
scheme of things.” Alton glanced over Taron’s shoulder at the small, mannerly
groups of white-robed figures filling the great plaza.
    Taron nodded. “How quickly
they forget we were once fearsome warriors, that our people fought demonkind to
a standstill.”
    Alton cut loose with a
derisive snort. “If they were to remember those days, they’d be forced to
recall the days when our swords still spoke to us as fellow soldiers.”
    Taron merely shook his head in
disgust. “We were once a proud people, Alton. Not anymore. Look at what we’ve
become.”
    Alton looked, and then he
sighed. The debates went on as usual: the level of voices never raised. The
arguments remained the same. Century after century of the same discussions, the
same gentlemanly disagreements.
    Why in the gods’ hells
couldn’t someone just get angry once in a while? He glanced down at the same
white robe he wore every day. The one that made him look exactly like every
other male in the huge auditorium.
    He was going to end up exactly
like them. A clone of his father—a man without imagination or passion. Without
a ray of hope for anything more from his life.
    Hells…what would it be like to
fight for something important, to earn his sword’s respect, to have it actually
acknowledge him? Obviously he hadn’t proved himself worthy enough to bear it,
which was why he’d left the damned thing in his quarters. He’d never actually
witnessed a sword that spoke, but history was rife with examples. His, however,
was not one of them. When he raised his head, Alton caught Taron staring at him
with an odd glint in his bright green eyes. “What?”
    “You truly do look bored and
dissatisfied.”
    “I am. Very.” Alton huffed out
a frustrated breath. “Day after day, the same conversations, the same
arguments, the same talk, talk, talk. It goes nowhere. Solves nothing.” He
glared at Taron. “I can’t stand it!”
    “Come with me, then. I have
something you might find interesting. Something that may be linked to demons.”
    Without waiting, Taron turned
away and headed down a long hallway leading to another level, one where the
technicians labored to keep their society on its usual level footing. Alton had
often envied them their caste designation. At least they had purpose, a job to
do, one that society actually depended upon.
    “Slow down,” he said, taking
longer steps to catch up to Taron. “Where are you taking me?”
    “We had a rather unusual
incident this morning.” Taron grinned at Alton, as if he carried a secret much
too good to keep. “I only learned of it by accident, but it appears a couple of
humans managed to cross through the golden veil.”
    “Humans?” Alton caught up to
Taron. “How’d they get in?”
    Taron shook his head. “I’m not
sure, though rumor has it one of them reeks of demon. I was headed down to see
them when I spotted you. Thought you might be interested.”
    “Does my father know?”
    Once again Taron raised his
eyebrows. He kept going. “Of course. He gave orders they be incarcerated and
forgotten.”
    Alton practically growled.
“Typical. So they’re locked up?”
    “Why do you think we’re going
to the dungeons, my friend? Pay attention!”
    Alton blinked. Taron was
right. He really did need to pay closer attention.
    “Who passes?”
    A guard stepped out of the
shadows with his sword raised. Taron and Alton stopped. Alton glanced at the
guard’s shiny steel sword. At least the man didn’t have to worry about his
sword refusing to speak—only the ruling caste carried crystal. Alton stepped
forward. “Heir Apparent Alton to interrogate the prisoners. Take us to them
immediately.”
    The guard saluted, and,
without question, turned and led them through a large gate and then into
another long hallway. This one was even darker and narrower than the first.
Alton glanced at Taron and flashed him a quick grin. At times like this, being
the heir, apparent