Subversion by Mitchell Hogan

Subversion by Mitchell Hogan

Author:Mitchell Hogan [Hogan, Mitchell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780648850939
Google: Qo88zgEACAAJ
Amazon: B08SVTP39R
Publisher: Crucible Press
Published: 2021-05-31T16:00:00+00:00


Braga’s shouted curses and insults had offended even the Thousand Lakes guards. When Anskar and Zek arrived, Bonavir was concerned that the big woman might be deranged. Dangerous, even.

“The ghost lady was angry this time,” Braga said once all four of them were gathered in the barracks room Anskar and Zek shared.

The Soreshi sat on the top bunk, legs dangling over the edge. Bonavir stood in the doorway, watching Braga intently.

“Why would she be angry?” Anskar asked.

“Because I failed. She’s going to curse me, isn’t she? The rancid bitch is going to curse me.”

“You’re not making sense, my dear,” Brother Bonavir said. “Just who is this ghost lady? And why would she curse you?”

“Who’s talking to you, turd-face?”

“Is it the vambrace?” Anskar asked. “She wants you to remove it?”

“No,” Braga said. “She wants me to examine it so I can make more.”

“More vambraces?”

“She showed me, in my head. A whole suit of armor—you were wearing it. She wants me to make it for you.”

“She told you this?” Anskar said, recalling the vision he had seen.

“Not with words, but I think that’s what she wants. I could be wrong.”

“Never heed ghosts and spirits, my people say,” Zek put in. “Those who return from the realm of the dead serve only their own selfish ends.”

“What kind of armor?” Brother Bonavir asked.

“Who is this maggot?” Braga said. “Why’s he here?”

“He let you into the city, remember?” Anskar said. “His name is Brother Bonavir. He’s a priest of the Elder.”

Braga spat. “Bloody squinty, shortsighted book-lovers. Bet you’ve never done a hard day’s work in your life, have you, shag-face?”

Bonavir raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was turd-face.”

“That too, dung-breath. You need to show me the vambrace again, ass-wipe.”

“We’ll have to go outside in order to see it,” Anskar said.

Brother Bonavir stepped forward. “In the moonlight?”

Anskar stared at him. How could he know?

“This vambrace,” the priest continued, “you have it on your person?”

Despite his misgivings, Anskar rolled up his sleeve.

“May I?” Bonavir said, then proceeded to feel about Anskar’s forearm with his fingers, murmuring when he encountered the cold metal of the vambrace. “Where did you get this?”

Anskar withdrew his arm without answering and tugged down his sleeve.

“Of course,” Bonavir said. “You barely know me. You must be wondering how I knew about the vambrace. In truth, I didn’t, but I listened to what was said between you and this good woman here, and I pieced things together. As Braga has so astutely observed, I read a good many things. We all do, we priests of the Elder. We learn all the myths and legends of Wiraya, so I have heard the Niyandrian folk tales of the Armor of Divinity.”

“That’s what this is?” Anskar asked.

Bonavir removed his monocle and cleaned it on the sleeve of his robe. “Who can say? In one tale—the most famous—a suit of Armor of Divinity was forged by the necromancer Tain for the Niyandrian King Lowanu, but when it was completed, Tain took it for himself.”

“Why?” Anskar asked.

“Because the armor is supposed to bestow immortality on the wearer, and immortality is what Niyandrians most desire.



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