The Ashen Levels by C. F. Welburn

Author:C. F. Welburn [Welburn, C. F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ythinar Publishing
Published: 2019-03-24T22:00:00+00:00

Now the plan would have been sound and all, had Balagir been telling the whole story. But they had fled with the death of a deity on their hands, the defiling of the sacred, and the removing of a farseeing eye from the dead Gazer’s face—an act which at once blasphemous, held other connotations for the lizard lord, who realised the eye’s true potential. In reality, it was probable they were still there in force, Zyrath amongst them, hungrier for revenge than a black-eye was smoke. He did not speak his fears of course, but instead consulted the mask. It failed him. He took it off, buffed it on his sleeve, and tried again, to no avail. It seemed it could not show him a future that existed in another dimension. He stored it in his pouch, letting Era run over his knuckles like a legless rodent as he awaited the breaking skies.

Finally, the hour came.

“Ready?” Roje’s deep voice boomed. Some agreed with a wildness in their eyes, some nodded resolutely, and others stared at their feet. None knew what to expect.

Raf Isil held something the size of an apple in his hand.

“This will help clear a path,” he explained in his silky voice. “Though it will require one to step briefly from the circle.”

“What devilry is this?” Rothma spat, as though he had found a serpent in his bed.

“You rely on weapons, I have my own means.”

“Hand it over,” Balagir offered, sensing that in doing so, some of the blame laid at his door may be forgiven.

“A man willing to accept his responsibilities,” commented the idris with a thin smile. “Seems we had a worthy winner after all.”

“What am I to do?”

“Simply throw it to the ground and step back swiftly, lest you be caught in the blast.”

“Blast? This is magic?”

“Nothing so exotic; simply a concoction of powder and oils. A ciel-smite, for want of a name.”

“I don’t care if it’s called a nymph’s nipple,” growled the ‘gnilo. “Let’s get on with this.”

Surprisingly, it was Unvil who delayed, raising one of his black claws.

“Aren’t ciel-smites much smaller.”

The idris grimaced. “This should make an impression. Just be sure to be back within the circle before it detonates.”

“Sound counsel,” Balagir murmured, taking the thing as gingerly as one would a scorp by the tail. It was heavier than its size warranted, dense as star matter, and its soapstone consistency left a chalky residue on his hands. A fragment crumbled off at his touch, which he rolled in his fingers and placed carefully in his pouch.

“Draw your weapons,” Roje commanded. “When I give the order, we charge.” He gave Balagir the nod and, with a deep breath, he stepped out.

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