Free Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 by Wild Magic (v1.1) Page B

circular opening in the
ceiling bled light across a rectangular table of black lacquered wood at the
center. Backless seats, more stool than chair, were set down both sides of the
table, jet as the Jesserytes 7 armor so that they were near invisible
in the shadows that pooled to either side. The walls were no lighter, paneled
in some dark wood, unadorned save for more of the strange symbols, those
painted in yellow and silver and red that seemed to glow in the dimness.
                Calandryll squinted as Temchen and
the other man marched forward, bowed again, and motioned for the guards to
bring the prisoners closer. The farther end of the chamber lay beyond the
limits of the poor illumination, and the guards halted before Calandryll's eyes
were able to pierce that gloom.
                From out of it came a voice, dry and
soft as the rustle of autumn leaves stirred by a breeze, but somehow clear for
all it was faint, as if generated by a power that transcended vocalization.
                "Welcome,” it said, and it
seemed the shadows themselves spoke. “ I have awaited your coming. ”
                Calandryll started as he realized
the words were uttered in the Jesseryte tongue, and that he understood.

3
     
     
     
                 
     
                L AUGHTER then, like the rattle of ancient bells, the timbre occluded
by rust—Calandryll wondered if his mind was read, or the startlement on his
face. He looked to his companions, seeing he was alone in neither understanding
nor surprise: Bracht stared with narrow eyes, suspicious visage, into the
shadows; Katya frowned; Cennaire appeared frightened, and he stepped a pace
closer, that movement eliciting a warning glance from the elder Jesseryte, a
prohibiting grunt from Temchen.
                "Easy, easy," said the
unseen speaker, startling Calandryll once more. "What harm do they offer
me? What harm can they offer
me?"
                The questions were mildly put,
seeming empty of threat, albeit massively confident. The bearded man answered,
but his words were incomprehensible. Calandryll suspected he protested for the
soft voice replied: "Chazali, had they such power surely they'd not allow
themselves taken. And be it some ruse, 1 believe I've the strength to oppose
them. I say—loose their bonds, remove those gags that we may converse as
civilized folk."
                There followed further protest,
seemingly quelled by some gesture visible only to the Jesserytes, and the voice
again, a hint of steel now evident. "Free them, I tell you. Be you so
concerned, then remain and ward me against this mighty danger."
                Amusement echoed in the last words
and the one named Chazali shook his head, shrugged, and motioned Temchen
forward, the two of them loosing the cords about the prisoners 7 wrists, taking the gags from their mouths. They both stepped back, wary, hands
resting light and ready on swordhilts.
                "Neither have we need for so
many guards," said the voice. "Dismiss your men, but leave whatever
things you took from our guests."
                "Guests?" Bracht's voice
was low, harsh with anger.
                "So I trust," came the
response from the darkness, "for all the manner of your coming. I crave
forgiveness for that indignity and shall, in time, explain the need. For now,
though, do you seat yourselves? Will you take wine?"
                "No."
                Bracht's eyes followed the warrior
who stepped forward, swords and saddlebags in his arms, clattering down onto
the table. Calandryll saw the tension in his body, knowing the Kern calculated
his chances of reaching his falchion, drawing. No less Temchen and Chazali,
whose curved blades slid a little way clear of the scabbards, the faint
susurration of steel blades against leather akin to the warning hiss of a
serpent. He looked to Bracht, a