The Forsaken Continent by Wayne Thomas Batson

Author:Wayne Thomas Batson [Batson, Wayne Thomas]
Language: dan
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Goodreads: 44449175
Published: 2019-03-20T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22: A Feast of Power

From the dead womb will come the unlooked-for one. Never expected, never wanted, and never understood. Stranger born and stranger named, conceived in secret from a distant seed, he will be named many things: prideborn, usurper, favored of Sabryne, and Returning One.

—Hradavisk Canamor, The Book of Whispers, Fell 8: 9-10

34 Muertanas 2238

Under a blanket of darkness, Morlan found richest communion with his god, Sabryne Shadowfinger. There on the throne of Anglinore, Morlan pondered the profound mysteries of the Hradavisk Canamor, The Book of Whispers. He recited chapter and verse, exploring, ruminating, dreaming, and plotting. Always plotting.

But he was not so deep in thought that he would miss the furtive movements of an assassin in his hall.

There were very few in all of Myriad who might have heard the meager signs of a master killer’s approach. But Morlan heard. It was not the sound of feet on stone nor something so mundane as an indiscreet breath. It was a subtle shifting of pressure, as if the sum volume of atmosphere within the chamber had changed. It was the sense that air was being displaced as the assassin closed in on his prey.

“I trust you have important news, Cythraul,” Morlan said, without even opening his eyes. That would be cheating. Morlan could see very well in the dark.

“Of course,” the killer replied, just the slightest hint of disappointment in his deep, rolling tone. “Razeen Ghash has come to visit.”

This opened Morlan’s eyes. He stared down from the throne into the twilight world of his vision and found the sinewy shape of his second-in-command. “Really?” Morlan breathed. “Razeen Ghash…here? On my very doorstep?”

“Closer, actually,” Cythraul replied. “He stands just outside this room.”

“Sabryne’s Heart,” Morlan cursed. “I must be living right.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Morlan lifted his gloved mechanical hand and scratched at his close-bearded chin. “Hmmm, I am supposed to be meeting with Usiric Alder within the hour. He will just have to wait. You’ll inform him, won’t you?”

Cythraul nodded. “He won’t like it,” he said. “You should see the way he carries himself around the castle, all that Shepherd power gone to his head.”

“Oh, I have seen,” Morlan replied. “He is a problem and a test. I plan to solve both.”

“Very good, my king,” Cythraul said. “And about Razeen?”

“By all means, Cythraul, do send the Gorrack king in.”

“Shall I take a position of…interference?” Cythraul asked, eagerness unmasked in his voice.

Morlan raised a dismissive hand. “Nay, friend,” he said. “If Razeen has come with murder on his mind and has the ruthless skill to pull it off, then let him take my head—and my seat. He’ll have earned it.”

“Admirable notion,” Cythraul replied. “I will return.” He glided away on careful feet.

The doors to Clarissant Hall parted, and a tall blade of light knifed into the chamber. Cythraul’s silhouette appeared for a moment, then a broader shadow. The Gorrack entered with Cythraul close behind.

Cythraul cleared his throat audibly, a sound like a distant storm’s rumble. “May I have the honor to present the Warrior King and High Chieftain of the Gorrack Nation, Razeen Ghash.

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