Silver Spines (Dragonblood Assassin Book 3) by Andy Peloquin & Jaime Castle

Author:Andy Peloquin & Jaime Castle [Peloquin, Andy & Castle, Jaime]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2023-07-10T23:00:00+00:00

37

Kullen

The Hudarian’s eyes flew wide, and a strangled cry of mixed pain and surprise exploded from his mouth. The wail gave way to harsh, mocking laughter a moment later.

“Foolish abakai,” the man grated through clenched teeth. “Krama dies, and you get nothing from him!”

Releasing the dagger’s hilt, Kullen stepped back and stared down at the man. “Krama dies, yes.” A cold, cruel smile spread slowly across his face. “But not a tumun. Not without the open sky above your head.”

Color drained from Krama’s sun-baked face, and his head snapped up, his eyes roaming the filthy, dank stone ceiling.

“Not so much as a window to let the sun’s light carry Krama’s spirit to Shiraghul.” Kullen gestured to the three stone walls behind him. “Krama will die below the earth in darkness, his body to rot, forever hidden from the eyes of the Torgun.”

The Hudarian tried to snarl his defiance, but a cough shattered the attempt. A groan escaped his lips and he doubled over the knife buried to the hilt in his belly, gasping for breath, a low, animalistic moan rumbling deep within his throat.

Kullen moved to crouch before the man—close enough his whisper carried to Krama’s ears, but far enough to be out of range should the Hudarian try anything foolish.

“You will die in this cell,” he said, his Hudarrat as harsh and vicious as if spoken by the Hordeman himself. “And when you are dead, I will drag your body into the tunnels beneath Dimvein and leave it there. Your eyes will never behold open sky. Your soul will remain trapped until Bughutualji finds it and claims it forever.”

To anyone else but one of the Hudar Horde’s tumun, Kullen’s threat would have been meaningless. But his training in the Hudarian ways hadn't only involved mastering their weapons of war. He’d learned of their superstitions, and the things they most feared. For a people so fond of killing, death held the greatest terror to them. Only if they died with a weapon in their hands or their faces turned up to the open sky would their spirits enter their version of the afterlife, an endless expanse of rolling hills to ride, wild horses to tame, game to hunt, and enemies to defeat alongside the Torgun, the warrior-heroes of the beyond. Any other death shut Shiraghul’s gates to them.

But worst of all was their fear of being interred. They believed a life spent roaming free and riding hard deserved a comparable afterlife. Only the truly vile were trapped beneath the earth, their souls at the mercy of the grasping, icy claws of the wicked god Bughutualji, He Who Dwells in the Deep Darkness. For a Tumun like Krama, such a death was more than just an insult to his warrior pride—it was an eternal sentence to Shekoth’s pits.

For all Krama’s bravery and spite, he could not hide the shudder that rippled through him at Kullen’s words, could not bottle up the piteous whimper that slipped past his bloody lips.

“Unless…” Kullen said, still keeping his voice low and hard.

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