Free The Legend of Asahiel: Book 03 - The Divine Talisman by Eldon Thompson Page A

himself had unleashed this scourge. But such a debate would seem to dishonor the man’s memory. For the next few hours, at least, Allion meant to think only of his friend’s better qualities.
    He reached his destination as a new dawn spilled through the trees, spreading diffuse light and meager warmth over a swollen stream and its forested banks. There was no need to search for the perfect plot. Each member of their erstwhile community selected his or her own at the age of eight—deemed the first age of accountability—by planting a tree that would grow as they grew, and mark their final resting spot. Torin’s lay beneath the canopy of a fire poplar planted near the edge of the stream. While half its boughs reached out over the water’s edge, the other half sheltered a grassy rise atop the southern bank, where Torin, as a child, had taken that first small step toward becoming a man.
    Allion smiled wistfully as he gazed upon the sheltered grove. From the banks of that stream, he and Torin—Jarom, at the time—must have watched half their youth flow by, while dreaming of adventure in faraway lands. Their fantasies had been filled with monsters and maidens and triumphs on an epic scale. But that had been long ago, before they had outgrown such childish reveries and been compelled to experience the dark and harrowing reality of them. They had been so naive, so innocent and carefree.
    So long ago.
    Amid the rushing of crystalline waters, Allion heard again Marisha’s pleas to stay, to allow Torin to go to the fires instead. He was glad now that he had ignored her. In the solemn hush of these familiar surroundings, he was more certain than ever that this was what Torin would have wanted, to be returned to his true home, to lie forever among his original people. Despite the risks involved, it seemed such a small favor to grant.
    His smile vanished as he forced himself to the work at hand. He untied the horses first, watered both, then led each to a separate sentry position some thirty paces off. Leaving each hobbled and with a nosebag of feed, he then returned to the gravesite, shovel in hand.
    Ignoring his own hunger, Allion knelt upon the site and bowed his head in silent prayer. When finished, he wiped his eyes, set shovel to earth, and began to dig.
    He dug slowly at first, mindful of the strength that would be required, and determined to execute this task with proper and noble dignity. But by the time the first bead of sweat fell, Allion felt himself losing control, succumbing to the memories and emotions that were so much a part of his labor. Neveragain would they sit side by side within this grove to discuss their hopes and dreams. Never again would his boyhood friend dip his toes into the cool water, grinning as the waves lapped at his ankles. That boy was slain, and all that remained for Allion was to dig…dig…dig…
    With unbridled fury, the hunter attacked the earth, hacking at its surface. It would share his anguish. It would know the horror and emptiness of his loss. With each memory, Allion’s wrath increased. The long days at work and at play…the nights of mischief in Glendon…the time they had run away…And later, the coming of Queen Ellebe…the hunt for the Crimson Sword…their battle at Kraagen Keep against the dragonspawn…
    Allion could not stop the onrush, and it fueled him when all physical strength had fled. It forced his muscles to respond, to lash out again and again until blisters formed, burst, and formed again. The burning within his shoulders and arms became unbearable, yet he would have welcomed its eternal agony for but a moment’s reprieve from that in his head and heart. So much to mourn, so much to reckon with, and for hours, Allion had no choice but to face it all, to challenge every demon his grief could muster.
    Until finally, almost suddenly, it came to an end.
    As the last shard of their former lives left its scar and skittered away, Allion found himself staring blankly