Beggar's Rebellion: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Empire of Resonance Book 1) by L.W. Jacobs

Author:L.W. Jacobs [Jacobs, L.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2021-03-01T22:00:00+00:00

21

One would think the sun had gone out, for the endless days of blue light in At’li winter. Only an orange glow on the horizon would shine, and yet the star and moon would wheel overhead, marking the regular progression of days. I admit to some relief when, with the spring melt, the sun began to rise higher and higher above the ice.

—Markels, Travels in the South: At’li and Achuri

Tai crouched in the bow of the rowboat, holding a damp cloth to Theron’s face. Behind them, a Coldferth ship burned and sank stern-first into the Genga, slave galley beached with men escaping.

The strike had gone well, better than expected, but someone always got hurt. Karhail, Weiland, Eddels and three other brawlers crowded in the back of the boat, while Eyna sat with feet braced against the prow. She had yuraloaded successfully, and her resonance thrummed as she pushed them upstream.

There was little likelihood of retaliation—the ship had no way to send a message upstream to Ayugen, and there had been no ships behind it in the river—but still the tension of battle hung over them. It had been a close thing for a while, Tai and Eyna feeding flames on one side of the ship while the brawlers worked to battle the scant crew and axe a hole in the far side. Still, they’d done it, sinking a valuable ship and all its cargo into the river. And they’d intentionally attacked on one of the shallower stretches of the Genga—the wreckage was likely to block river traffic until someone could get it moved.

And as soon as they did, the rebellion would sink another.

“Look a’ this!” one of the new brawlers, Eddels, called, digging in the bundles of weapons they’d taken. “Found it while I was in the hold!”

It was an oiled leather satchel, finely tooled and well sealed. Karhail took it from him, breaking the sealed knots. “Correspondence, no doubt.” He leafed through the pages inside, stony face impassive. “Some of this could be useful.”

Eddels snorted. “If you like reading love letters to lighthairs.” He was a farmer’s son, thick black hair shot with red, grown up somewhere along the lowlands between Seinjial and Yatiland.

“Quiet,” Eyna barked from the front. “Might be something ahead.”

They all stilled. Tai squinted, making out a group of people walking along the shoreline.

“Lawkeepers?” someone asked.

Tai shook his head, squinting. “No. Looks like—”

“Darkhairs,” Karhail said. “Achuri, most like. They look pretty beat-up.”

“Them and me both,” Theron groaned. His skin was hot red and blistered, with much of the hair singed from that side of his head. Apparently, someone had hit him with a burning board.

“Slow, Eyna,” Tai said, looking closer as they came into view. “They might need our help.”

“We need our help,” Beal said. “Or did you forget we’re full of contraband and Theron’s losing his face?”

Eyna slowed, and Karhail didn’t question it—a sign of the respect the rebels were giving Tai of late. The boat strike had been his idea, and much of the

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