03 The Divine Talisman by Thompson Eldon

Author:Thompson, Eldon [Eldon, Thompson,]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-10T22:27:45.204000+00:00

And the Finlorians. He would have them as well. Strike south with them, and he would have his revengewith those he had despised most now fighting at his side.

The realization finally helped to settle him. He had lost nothing that could not be regained. Neak-Thur would still fall. Cities and creatures and lands beyond would suffer his terrible retribution. He had wasted time, was all. He had plenty enough of that.

He left the Sword in its scabbard, and vaulted atop the downed log. A patch of ferns lay on the other side, at the edge of a stream that cut along the hollows floor. Its waters glistened darkly, filled with sharp, slick stones and overgrown with leafy brush. He couldnt quite tell where the ferns ended and the water began.

In the moment it took him to decide where to safely drop to his feet, there came a flash of light, and a shock of energy like a hammer blow in the small of his back. For an instant, the world around him vanished.

It came rushing back as he hurled forward, almost clear across the stream. His legs splashed heavily. His right knee smashed against an underwater rock. The taste of leaf and vine and soil filled his mouth, while his breath fled in a single, shocking blast.

His veins were afire, swelling, billowing, until he felt they must rupture. His entire body. Even his eyes bulged. He closed them tight lest they burst from his skull.

He snarled and tried to push himself off the ground. But his right arm folded awkwardly, painfully, at the shoulder, unable to hold his weight. Torn from its socket, he realized. The fall had not done that. It was the blow itself, the energy

Thrakkon rolled to his left and sat up, opening his eyes to a blaze of white. Every tiny piece of him was dancing, like countless needles threading through the flesh beneath his skin. When he opened his mouth, he retched in his own lap, a gush of vile fluids that must have been festering for weeks in Torins belly.

When it was finished, however, he could see. Lights swam like a swarm of bees, but he was able to make out the log, the slope down which he had trailed, the dells rim above

And a shadow. A human figure with hands upraised, holding an object of light that pulsed like a midnight star.

He made a grab for his weapon, only to wince with the realization that his sword arm would not function well enough to draw it. He grasped the right arm with the left and gave it a shove, trying vainly to wrench it back into place. Pain flared, but nowhere near as bright as the shadow-persons light as it lanced toward him. He knew he must dodge, but the forked streamer flew faster than thought, and caught him full in the chest.

It thrust him back against the earth, tethered to an invisible rack. He was being drawn and quartered, every limb and digit outstretched.

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