Aethersmith (Book 2) Read Free

unkempt mop of greasy black
hair that tried to hide the fact that he was balding at the top. A toothy
yellow smile split his face as a satchel plopped down on the table in front of
him.
    “I heard the alarm from here. Anyone follow you?” the man
asked.
    “No, they’re probably searching the ground outside the clock
tower for my gory remains even as we speak.”
    The speaker was still dressed all in black, but now was
unhooded. Jaw-length auburn hair framed a face smooth with the signs of youth.
Her piercing green eyes met those of her associate directly, with no sign of
deference or fear. She was tall, and thin of face and limb. The loose black
outfit hid her modest curves and called into question her gender, but only when
her face was hidden away as well; she was unmistakably beautiful.
    Her associate reached into the satchel, and took out the
circlet from within. He turned it over carefully in his hands. “I sort of
expected something a bit fancier,” he mused.
    “Sure, Zell, let me just nick back into the museum and pick
you out a nicer one. I figured you wanted a dressed-down magic crown that you
could wear with your every-day rags. But I can take you down to Duke Street in
the morning, and get you something that would go with a nice fancy crown,” the prowler replied.
    “Does it work?” the man asked, shrugging off her sarcasm out
of old habit.
    “Try it,” she replied.
    The man put the crown on. It looked ridiculous on his
massive head, a thin ring of gold lost amid a tangle of sweat-glossed black
hair.
    “Whoa, is this what you always see?” the man asked as he
slowly looked all about the room, especially lingering on the walls and floor.
“I can see you quite clearly—and the two daggers you are hiding. I can even see
Rakashi and Tanner in the next room, and the innkeeper downstairs.”
    “Glad you like it. Now can we get back on our way to
Scar Harbor?”
    “Sure, Soria, first thing in the morning.”

Chapter 2 - Fighting the Tide
    The sea thrashed, and the wind howled past Kyrus Hinterdale
as he stood staring out into the approaching storm. His bare feet sank slightly
into the thick-packed, muddy sand left by the receding tide. Kyrus had adopted
the natives’ custom of going about with no shirt in the tropical climate of
Denku Appa, a remote equatorial isle that, for now at least, was his home.
    Kyrus had seen many a storm, safe on dry land and huddled
indoors in his homeland of Acardia. His thick northern blood was not so
bothered by the cooler air this southern storm blew; in fact, it seemed a
refreshing change from the often sweltering heat of the daylight hours of
summertime on the island. If not for the steel-grey sky with its otherworldly
look to it, the windblown rain trying to drive itself beneath his skin like a
storm of nails, and the threat of the storm surge washing out the low-lying
village, the day might almost have been pleasant.
    Toktu, senior elder among the Denku, had told Kyrus that
this storm did not look so bad as many the islanders had seen. Nonetheless,
most of the Denku had retreated to more sheltered ground, taking refuge in some
caves farther inland. Those who had remained behind wished to see a unique
sight: their “spirit man” wanted to hold back the storm.
    Kyrus had been using shielding spells as exercise for his
Source. He had only learned of magic’s existence a few months ago, and was
trying to make up for a youth of lost opportunity. In the realm of Kadrin—which
Kyrus saw through the eyes of his counterpart from the other world, his “twin”
Brannis, each night instead of dreaming—a sorcerer would be trained from an
early age, starting as young as eight or so with formal training. Kyrus had
seen all the rudiments as Brannis had struggled through the early ranks of the
Kadrin Imperial Academy of Sorcery before they finally gave up on ever making a
sorcerer of him, despite his family’s strong magical heritage. It seemed as if,
joined by some mystical