(eng) Mickey Zucker Reichert - Bifrost Guardians 01 by Godslayer

Author:Godslayer [Godslayer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 4

Wolfslayer

"Brother fights with brother, they butcher each other;

daughters and sons incestuously mix; man is a plaything of mighty whoredoms;

an axe-time, sword-time shields shall be split;

a wind-age, a wolf-age, before the World ends."

—The Spaewife's Song

The dream-reader crossed the barren tract before her cottage and studied the main street of Forste-Mar through cataract-hazed vision. Four figures approached, too distant to discern through her aged eyes. Yet she identified her visitors without mortal sight. The woman at the lead glowed with a life aura bright as a barn fire, surely Dragonrank and therefore unmistakably Silme. Beside her walked a boy suffused by light so pale the dream-reader attributed the illusion to reflections of Silme's glory and her own near blindness.

Behind Silme strode her bodyguard of several years, the ronin, Gaelinar. To believe the rumors, he'd fought a thousand duels in the Far East without a loss and had been lured to the North by stories of fearless pirates commanding longboats carved in dragon form. No one knew how Silme had persuaded the Kensei to her cause, but his loyalty was beyond question.

The dream-reader knew the sorceress' last companion from gossip exchanged in the village market. The citizens named him a light elf. But even through diseased eyes which blurred Larson to an outline, the dream-reader found little comparison between him and the slight, giggling elves who whisked through her cottage on infrequent visits. His tread was heavy as a man's, his manner cautious and careworn.

As the four people crossed the ground before her cottage, the dream-reader lowered her head so her hood might keep her wrinkled face in shadow. She spread her arms. Wind caught the edges of her sleeves, drawing them from wrists thin as broom handles. Affectations were unnecessary before the sorceress, Silme, but the dream-reader assumed her position from decades of habit.

"Good day," called Silme a bit too loudly, as if the dream-reader's failing vision might affect her ears as well.

"Good morning, Lady Silme." The dream-reader bobbed her head once at the sorceress and again for Gaelinar. "Kensei." She waited patiently for Silme's introduction of the strangers.

"Lord Allerum and Brendor the…"

"Apprentice," Brendor interrupted in an excited squeak. "Silme's going to teach me my shave spell!"

Unable to discern expressions from her patrons' blurred faces, the dream-reader watched Silme's life aura for clues to her disposition. Now, the edges tinged pink with annoyance. Beside high rank Dragonschool, the reader's own aura seemed faded as the old cloak across her shoulders. "Have you come to visit an aging woman or for business?" asked the dream-reader, hoping for the latter. It was common knowledge Silme consorted with gods. Only desperation would drive Dragon-rank to the lowly magics of a dream-reader. And desperation had its price.

"Business." Silme stroked the shaft of her staff thoughtfully. "Lord Allerum has a dream for your interpretation."

The dream-reader took one step forward and peered at Larson through slitted eyes. Closer, she recognized the small frame and angularity of an elf. But his long fingers balled nervously against the side of his breeches in a gesture uncharacteristic for a creature of faery.

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