Free The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) by J.C. Staudt

The quiver too.”
    The man did as he was told.
    “Good. Now show me where the water is.”
    “Give us your skins and we’ll go fill ‘em for you,” said the
man with the crooked teeth.
    Daxin bristled. “Take me to the coffing water. If I have to
go on a scavenger hunt, I can promise it will not end well for you.”
    They led him over the crest of the hill and across another
expanse of treed ground, Daxin on his mare and they out in front of him, their
weapons tucked safely in with his things for the time being. There were no
accomplices lying in wait on the far side after all. The afternoon haze blurred
the colors of the clay red dirt and the sickly off-white trees until they
became the deep blues and violets of the distant mountains. Infernal’s heat
was finally beginning to subside after a day that had been far too
long for Daxin’s liking.
    As they rounded the bend of another small hill, Daxin began
to realize that it wasn’t a hill at all, but an enormous stone, which time and
weather had blended into the landscape. The stone was covered with dirt and
scrub on the near side. It wasn’t until they had circled to the rear that Daxin saw
the underside of the stone—a rocky shelf that jutted out above the ground,
forming a shallow cave beneath. The entrance was so well-hidden that Daxin
might have passed it by without noticing it.
    The path that descended into the cave was smooth and well-worn,
hidden behind a wall of rock. Daxin had to dismount to follow the bandits under the
low ceiling. He stayed ten paces back and hop-stepped along, leading his mare
by the reins. He tried not to use the shotgun as a walking stick whenever he
felt himself losing his balance. There was a pleasant coolness in the air that
he hadn’t felt in a precious long time. Two other sensations came to him as
they made their way into the cave: he felt the damp, and he heard the voices.

CHAPTER 7
    Claybridge
    Spires gleamed in the darkness, pale reflections of the
life agitating below. Lizneth sped toward the heart of the great metropolis of
Bolck-Azock, losing herself in the press like a lone snowflake in a cloud of
gray ash. Everyone was a stranger here, and the way they looked at her made her
feel stranger still. She hadn’t expected to go unnoticed, but she hadn’t
expected to receive this much attention, either. Or this kind of
attention. Her simple chinos and soil-stained legwraps did little to hide her
nubile age or her pearlescent fur, and she could feel every buck’s eyes
following her, hungering after her. When they salivated, she could feel their
desire in her whiskers. A few even called out to her, but she kept her gaze
straight ahead and quickened her pace. The bucks in Tanley had never been so impolite.
    Lizneth wound her way up a
wobbly ironwood ramp that was coiled around a massive stalactite. The throng thickened
as she neared the top, and the dry-rotted supports shook under the weight. The
stench of cooked meat mingled with the haick of hundreds of ikzhehn she had never scented before. It was overwhelming to come in contact with so
many unfamiliar imprints. Each crosswind that blew through the chasm brought
dozens of foreign scent-shapes to her, and she hardly recognized a single one.
    The top of the ramp dumped her out at one end of a gargantuan
red clay bridge. Shops, stands and kiosks littered either side, the biggest
collection of artisans she had ever seen in one place. Even on market day in
Tanley, the mass of vendors was never so astounding. Anything she needed, she
could probably find it here. When she saw the thickness of the crowds, she almost
turned back, but anything was more appealing than the thought of descending
that rickety ramp again.
    A shrouded brown damsel was coming toward her, looking at the
ground as she hurried along. Lizneth stepped into the dam’s path and said, “Excuse
me… what is this place?”
    The dam looked up with a start. “ Akikrish-ziirah ,” she
said, her voice a high-pitched