The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - Book 3 by James P. Davis

Author:James P. Davis [Unknown]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast

chapter sixteen

N° words were needed. SyrolPs eyes told it all.

Too weak to defend himself against the punch to his stomach, Bastun took it and doubled over in pain. The sword at his throat disappeared only for its pommel to come crashing down on his skull. He fell to his hands, vision swimming as the room erupted into chaos.

Shouts and curses surrounded him as Duras tackled Syrolf. Coughing, Bastun crawled against the wall and lay on his side. The fang had become a tangle of legs and arms as supporters of Duras leaped to his aid against those siding with Syrolf. Their eyes were bloodshot and without reason as they punched and kicked at one another. Though a common sight in the berserker lodges, this brawl stemmed from more than simple rivalry.

His eyes clearing, Bastun watched as the floor came alive. The shadows of the combatants peeled away from the stone, growing darker as tendrils reached and snatched. Beneath the curses and shouts he heard the undercurrent of whispers, the nonsensical ravings of the shadowy children as they played in the fertile ground of the Rashemi's minds. The black stream of spirits filled cracks in the floor, bending and twisting as it made its way toward Bastun.

Drawing back against the wall, his hand went to the Breath, making the shadows pull away. Before he could study the

effect, the room rippled and changed. Ghostly images overlaid themselves among the fighting Rashemi. Fierce warriors in heavy armor fought with sword and shield through the scene. The faint noise of metal on metal echoed in his mind as if from a great distance. The Breath's steel gripped his hand with claws of ice, compelling him to stand, to skirt this battle and continue on his way to the northwest tower. He fought the will that tried to overcome him and, straining with effort, released his hand from the Breath. As he did the ghostly battle disappeared.

Blood spattered across the floor in front of him, and Syrolf landed on his back. Duras stood over him, breathing heavily and reaching for the fallen warrior again. Others came from behind, grasping his shoulders and hauling him backward. Syrolf turned over, noticing Bastun, and lunged. Blood poured from his nose and stained his bared teeth as he was stopped as well, pulled away from the prone vremyonni to spit and swear.

Thaena walked up between the pair, reprimanding them with little more than a stern glare and a steady hand. The shouting faded as the bloodlust fled from weary muscles and clenched fists. Duras and Syrolf stood on their own, staring each other down but making no move to continue the fight.

Bastun rose to a sitting position and caught his breath. The whispers died away, and the shadows sank back into the stone, the ghosts' sport now finished as a measure of order was restored to the group. Thaena caught his eye, an unreadable light flashing in her gaze. An awkward silence passed between them, which she quickly broke, ordering men to secure the doors and any other entrances or exits.

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