Bastion of Sun (The Ronin Saga Book 3) by Matthew Wolf

Author:Matthew Wolf [Wolf, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MCWriting.com
Published: 2017-02-11T06:00:00+00:00

Fetid Plans

“This doesn’t feel like the smartest idea,” Darius said, wisely beneath his breath.

Gray couldn’t help but agree. But what other choice did they have? Without it, the archwolf wouldn’t budge. And without flying, Gray was as sure as dead.

They were in a fetid alley, the sun blocked out by shrouded buildings. Gray kept his distance, following what the wind told him—the lingering foul smell of the thieves—which was difficult. The alley smelled rank like piss, feces and food left to rot in the moldy wet nooks of stone. But they took the narrow corridors, winding deeper, away from the crowds and noise.

“They’re herding him,” said Darius. “Away from the crowds and away from witnesses. Bloody clever bastards.”

If only, Gray thought, growing more wary of the prey they tracked, knowing the truth.

Again visions flashed to mind.

Seven sleek-coated Suntha panthers with fur darker than the shadows of Narim. They moved warily, stalking their prey into a steep-faced basin, only to find the Mukla with his back turned to the cliffs, facing them. Bones littered the earth about the flat-packed ground. Suntha panther bones. Some bloodied with the flesh still clinging to the white ribcages. Huge flies buzzed, nibbling at the carcasses, and the Suntha panthers understood. The beast had led them into the deep bowl on purpose. A killing ground.

The prey had become the predator. Death and chaos exploded as huge tusks gorged, trampling and roaring with primal anger. The Sunthas leapt and struck with perfect grace. But it didn’t matter. Not here. Suntha claws scored along the Marluke back, tearing huge groves. But still it fought heedlessly; if anything, it was enraged by the pools of blood its attackers spilled. It ended, and there were only limp black corpses and silence. The beautiful, prized hunters were now simple food as the Marluke tore the fur in huge ripping bites and gobbled on the lifeless creatures—claiming his prize. Gray shook his head as if waking.

The story was vivid—he could smell the carcasses. He could almost taste the hunger in the Marluke. Marlukes were great white albino beasts resembling giant boars that lived in the enchanted Drymaus Forest. They had huge curling tusks, a leathery hide with tufts of patchy fur and a snout with three-pronged holes—nostrils that gusted air like a forge’s bellows. Gray had felt the Marluke’s raw power and the sharp, visceral fear in the Sunthas. How? He pushed the oddity aside, returning to the moment.

Voices sounded around the bend.

Gray leaned against the wet wall, feeling his clothes soak through and pulled back as he listened.

“An elf! A bloody elf!”

“Are ya as daft as yer ugly?” griped another. “’Course he’s a bloody elf! Look at his cursed mount—you don’t get scum like us ridin’ fancy beasts like that, do ya?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” asked one.

“King, queen. Unless you’re an Arbiter in disguise, you’re as good as meat for the grinder,” another said with a cocky swagger. The leader, his fighting senses told him. The voice sounded like a big man.

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