Read Online Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) by J.C. Staudt - Free Book Online
Authors: J.C. Staudt
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a black tide,
blades singing. Even with her goggles on, Lizneth couldn’t look directly at the
Zithstone for long without feeling sick and achy. Sniverlik’s tumor-like paunch
had grown—or so it appeared. He gave an abrasive chittering laugh as his keguzpikhehn leapt over the stones and slashed bloody torrents through the lines of
apathetic calaihn .
Soon the Marauders had fought their way to the extremities of
the scepter’s influence, where the unaffected calaihn still had their
wits about them. It was there that true battle was joined. The nomads were
tough, and they fought like fiends, sustaining many wounds before they fell.
Each calai who went down brought three ikzhehn with him, some
slaying as many as half a dozen or more before meeting their end.
Lizneth saw now why the eh-calaihn called them
savages. They roared and shrieked as they fought, cutting Marauders down as if
their armor were made of cloth, their own bare bronze chests glistening with
blood and scars and sweat. Sniverlik was advancing, however, and with him came
the Zithstone, its every gyration twisting the light into sinuous curls of
shadow. That’s something crueler than shadow , Lizneth observed, as its
threads fluttered through the calaihn ranks, malignant in the hands of
the ikzhe chieftain. Papa was wrong about the scepter, and Mama was
right. There is some kind of depraved power in the thing .
As the calaihn fought their way up the hillside,
Marauders poured out from rocky hideaways and took them unawares. Each time the
nomads gained ground, the Marauders beat them back again. Sniverlik continued
his crippling advance, the Marauders as thick in the crags as swarming flies.
Lizneth’s hand went to her dagger. By some miracle, the calaihn hadn’t
taken it from her when they put her in chains. Maybe Neacal hadn’t meant to
take her as a slave after all. Maybe he just wanted to be sure she didn’t flee
before she led them to Sniverlik’s stronghold. Should she help them? She was no
warrior. Was there anything she could do to help them?
When she stood up, paralyzed with uncertainty, Sniverlik saw
her. She could tell he had already scented her haick . Now he knew she
had returned to the above-world against his orders. The look he gave her was
one of disappointment more than rage. It was if he’d always known she would
betray him, and she had only proven him right. She’d had to convince herself
that helping the calaihn didn’t make her a traitor to her own zhehn —just
to Sniverlik. Now that she saw his eyes, his disquiet shifting to anger, she
was beginning to doubt even more that she’d done the right thing.
What I’ve done is put my family in danger. If Neacal
doesn’t enslave Papa and Mama and little Raial and the others, Sniverlik will
kill them. There’s no way out of this . Still, she’d had to try. Hadn’t she?
She wasn’t sure. She drew the dagger, wishing it had been only a dream that
she’d dropped it into the cotterphage’s river; imagining the sickly green
luster of venom still shining on the blade. But her wish was only that, and in
place of poison the steel was streaked with dried water stains. It was nothing
more than a normal dagger now. She wanted to kill Sniverlik and Neacal both,
but the sight of so much carnage frightened her. There’s only one thing I
expect from you , Neacal had said. Courage . She didn’t care what
Neacal expected anymore. If she was going to have courage, it would be for her
own sake.
The Marauders had begun to tire, growing flushed and listless
in the heat. The nomads were gaining ground, but they were still fighting
uphill. Some had recovered from the Zithstone’s trance and were picking up
their swords to fight again. Lizneth slid down from the boulder and circled
around to the far side. She didn’t think about what she was doing; another
moment of hesitation would’ve rendered her too afraid to do anything.
The underside of the ridge was long and narrow. She picked
her way
blades singing. Even with her goggles on, Lizneth couldn’t look directly at the
Zithstone for long without feeling sick and achy. Sniverlik’s tumor-like paunch
had grown—or so it appeared. He gave an abrasive chittering laugh as his keguzpikhehn leapt over the stones and slashed bloody torrents through the lines of
apathetic calaihn .
Soon the Marauders had fought their way to the extremities of
the scepter’s influence, where the unaffected calaihn still had their
wits about them. It was there that true battle was joined. The nomads were
tough, and they fought like fiends, sustaining many wounds before they fell.
Each calai who went down brought three ikzhehn with him, some
slaying as many as half a dozen or more before meeting their end.
Lizneth saw now why the eh-calaihn called them
savages. They roared and shrieked as they fought, cutting Marauders down as if
their armor were made of cloth, their own bare bronze chests glistening with
blood and scars and sweat. Sniverlik was advancing, however, and with him came
the Zithstone, its every gyration twisting the light into sinuous curls of
shadow. That’s something crueler than shadow , Lizneth observed, as its
threads fluttered through the calaihn ranks, malignant in the hands of
the ikzhe chieftain. Papa was wrong about the scepter, and Mama was
right. There is some kind of depraved power in the thing .
As the calaihn fought their way up the hillside,
Marauders poured out from rocky hideaways and took them unawares. Each time the
nomads gained ground, the Marauders beat them back again. Sniverlik continued
his crippling advance, the Marauders as thick in the crags as swarming flies.
Lizneth’s hand went to her dagger. By some miracle, the calaihn hadn’t
taken it from her when they put her in chains. Maybe Neacal hadn’t meant to
take her as a slave after all. Maybe he just wanted to be sure she didn’t flee
before she led them to Sniverlik’s stronghold. Should she help them? She was no
warrior. Was there anything she could do to help them?
When she stood up, paralyzed with uncertainty, Sniverlik saw
her. She could tell he had already scented her haick . Now he knew she
had returned to the above-world against his orders. The look he gave her was
one of disappointment more than rage. It was if he’d always known she would
betray him, and she had only proven him right. She’d had to convince herself
that helping the calaihn didn’t make her a traitor to her own zhehn —just
to Sniverlik. Now that she saw his eyes, his disquiet shifting to anger, she
was beginning to doubt even more that she’d done the right thing.
What I’ve done is put my family in danger. If Neacal
doesn’t enslave Papa and Mama and little Raial and the others, Sniverlik will
kill them. There’s no way out of this . Still, she’d had to try. Hadn’t she?
She wasn’t sure. She drew the dagger, wishing it had been only a dream that
she’d dropped it into the cotterphage’s river; imagining the sickly green
luster of venom still shining on the blade. But her wish was only that, and in
place of poison the steel was streaked with dried water stains. It was nothing
more than a normal dagger now. She wanted to kill Sniverlik and Neacal both,
but the sight of so much carnage frightened her. There’s only one thing I
expect from you , Neacal had said. Courage . She didn’t care what
Neacal expected anymore. If she was going to have courage, it would be for her
own sake.
The Marauders had begun to tire, growing flushed and listless
in the heat. The nomads were gaining ground, but they were still fighting
uphill. Some had recovered from the Zithstone’s trance and were picking up
their swords to fight again. Lizneth slid down from the boulder and circled
around to the far side. She didn’t think about what she was doing; another
moment of hesitation would’ve rendered her too afraid to do anything.
The underside of the ridge was long and narrow. She picked
her way
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