The Sword of Shadows: The Voidal by Adrian Cole

Author:Adrian Cole [Cole, Adrian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General, heroic fantasy, the voidal, high fantasy, sword and sorcery, fantasy adventure
ISBN: 9781479490080
Google: man0AAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2012-09-04T22:00:00+00:00

PART SIX: AMONG THE BONES OF GIANTS

In matters of conflict, whether issues are resolved through debate, individual battle between two protagonists armed with swords or an all-out war between men or gods, the application of tactics and strategy plays a vital part.

And in the employment of these, honesty and openness do not necessarily bear the ripest fruit. Duplicity, deceit, mendacity — ah, these are more trustworthy devices. For example, in a fight between two swordsmen, it is not simply a case of one warrior hacking through the defence of the other. There are such ploys as feints and bluffs: one man may pretend to be wounded or exhausted.

The Dark Gods are as skilled in such methods as any other. Those who would deal with them are well advised to scrutinise each play of the cards, metaphorically speaking. Black may not be black at all, just as white may be purple.

Or blood red.

—Salecco, whose aversion to contests is based on the sound principles of self-preservation.

High up in the mountains, the Monastery of Tranquil Resolve perched precariously above treacherous crags and scree, a sea of cloud lapping at its walls and spilling over its windowless towers, the air thick with vapour, damp and chill. The tallest of the decaying turrets leaned precipitously out over the eon-scarred walls of the monastery; within it a bell tolled dolorously, disturbing the black-feathered birds that flapped around the intrusive buildings, voicing their raucous protest. Across the weeds of the central court, two figures hurried, eager to be out of the perpetual drizzling mist. The first was swathed in the dull grey robes and deep cowls of a Peace Monk, the second in the hooded cloak of an outsider from the lands below the mountains. They passed through a doorway and went down torchlit steps to where a small gathering of the Brotherhood awaited them. All eyes turned up to face the men, each face pasty with distress and fear.

One of them pointed to a bare table and whispered to the first man descending. “It is Brother Jeroba.”

“Dead?”

“Soon.”

The leading Peace Monk dismissed all the others with a wave of his white hand and in a moment was left alone with his companion and the stricken other. They dropped their cowls and went to the bare table on which the body was lying. “Bring a torch,” said the first monk and in a moment he took it and held it up to see the face of the man called Jeroba. He leaned over the inert form, whose pained face was like carved wax. “Brother Jeroba — what is it?”

For a moment nothing happened, but then the eyes opened, burning and dazzling with the radiance of some strange inner madness. Strong hands snatched at the robes of the Peace Monk as Jeroba tried to drag himself upright. “The dawn of darkness is coming! Let the omniverse tremble!” gasped the strangled voice. The man sank down once more.

The Peace Monk shook him without apparent sympathy. “Jeroba!”

Again the eyes opened. “It is here.

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