Scion of Lightning (The Stormcrafter Chronicles Book 1) by J.T. Moy

Author:J.T. Moy [Moy, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Centaurus Press
Published: 2022-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

The next day, as Meila walked through the city, returning to the royal prison with Mulgrave and Jaks to seek the return of her possessions, she encountered a much-changed city to that of a few days before.

A somber mood hung over the crowds of people who all seemed on urgent business. In the market district, eyes followed her with whispers and pointed fingers—not curious this time, but suspicious. A group of urchins waved pretend swords and threw pebbles at her but gave flight when she boomed at them. Mobs jostled in the marketplace over food and supplies, with occasional scuffles breaking out in stalls and shops. Fresh posters depicting soldiers standing on duty were pasted to notice boards and walls of buildings; notices proclaiming the king’s will for a province cordon. Dunberrin prepared for war.

At the prison, the Prison Magistrate admitted them immediately and greeted the mage with obsequious aplomb. “Welcome, Grandmaster. What an honor to see you again,” he said as he bowed. “I see our lovely ward is doing well.” His words acknowledged her, but his weasel eyes did not deviate from the mage.

After an exchange of pleasantries, Mulgrave requested Meila’s possessions from the prison storage and the magistrate flicked his fingers at a guard to retrieve her items. While they waited a tedious quarter hour, the magistrate drew a reluctant Mulgrave into a conversation to whine about the prison’s finances.

“Please accept this small donation to your facility,” the mage said eventually and reached into his money pouch to place a gold coin on the man’s polished desk.

The magistrate beamed and slid the coin into a drawer with a deft hand.

As they exited the prison, Meila remarked, “Greedy man. Is that the correct term?”

“You wouldn’t believe how much that one slithers,” Mulgrave replied. “Hopefully, he hasn’t stolen and sold off what we are after.” He looked at the prison sack that Jaks had accepted from the guard as they left.

An hour later, in Mulgrave’s library, Jaks dumped the contents of the sack onto the central table.

Meila whooped in glee when she saw familiar objects in the pile. She pushed aside the bulkiest items: boxes of ration bars, silver insulation blanket, backpack with heat cells, medikit, and her old jumpsuit.

Picking up her handgun from the remaining small items, her implants confirmed that the black synthmetal weapon was still operational and had ninety-seven charges left in the energy cell. She checked both of the trigger locks, the first, a toggle above the grip, and the second, an internal lock activated by the implant in her forebrain through electrical impulses through her palm.

Satisfied, she looked up to see Jaks and Mulgrave staring at the gun. She flipped it around to offer it to the grandmaster. “Take it. It’s locked.”

Mulgrave cautiously took the gun, weighed it, felt the texture of the grip and barrel, looked down the muzzle, and then examined the details of the trigger in the sunlight. “Not much to it. Is this all?”

“Let me show you what it can do.

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