Out of the Grave: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 2) Read Free Page A

lean but well muscled and confident. Perhaps Tyrus had grown cynical, but Klay had a young soldier’s zeal. He wore his armor well and performed his duties with care, and Tyrus could appreciate the effort, but he intended to question Biral again. Klay tugged at his elbow and gestured for the door.
    “He might be telling the truth,” Klay said. “Maybe he was banished from the court.”
    “He’s lying.”
    “There are more important things to worry about.”
    “Not to me.”
    Outside the cell sat a young woman wearing a red robe. She traced runes in the air and chanted to herself. As Tyrus understood it, the young sorceress kept Biral from using sorcery to break free. The Red Tower offered a counter to the bone lords of Rosh. Klay moved noiselessly, and Tyrus followed him down the hall.
    “She’s different,” Tyrus said.
    “They’ve been taking shifts, an hour at a time.”
    Tyrus studied the girl, her eyes half open and chanting under her breath. “Is she aware that I’m here?”
    “Of course.” Klay unlocked another door. “She’s not blind.”
    “So they’ve told Dura.”
    “I warned you. Why must you push her? She’s going to blame me.”
    “I will say it was my idea.”
    “Who else would tell you about Biral?”
    Tyrus wanted to express gratitude, but he was not sure what to say. He had never been good at accepting or giving compliments. Orders came more easily. The best he could offer was a grunt of appreciation. He needed allies and should make more of an effort with Klay. Developing friendship with the sorcerers wouldn’t hurt either, but their leash chafed. Years of leadership in Rosh had given him a taste of entitlement. Bowing to foreigners was difficult.
    Klay led him through the bowels of the dungeon, up multiple staircases, and past dozens of locked doors. Biral was dangerous enough to house at the bottom of an old mineshaft. The smell of damp earth, soiled hay, and old urine brought back vivid memories of Tyrus’s own time in the dungeons. A year had passed since he’d occupied a cell like Biral’s.
    They neared the top of the dungeons, where the air smelled cleaner, and the masonry changed: large stones cut from white rock. The dungeons were darker, cells cut into brown stone stained with filth and soot. Klay opened a door that glowed with daylight and raised a hand for Tyrus to wait. He peeked outside and gestured to come.
    “Hurry,” Klay whispered, “to the eastern stairs.”
    They walked as quickly as possible without rattling their armor too loudly. The vaulted ceilings and wide hall echoed the smallest sounds.
    “Wait,” Klay said. “You hear that?”
    Tyrus had much stronger ears. “Four men, in plate, up ahead.”
    Klay cursed under his breath. Ironwall had become home to other refugees, people who had lost their homes when Tyrus sacked their cities. Klay stepped in front of him and pulled at Tyrus’s helm.
    “You might pass for a guard.” Klay grimaced. “But you’re too big.”
    “It’s only four.”
    “We cannot provoke the Shinari. Keep walking to the stairs while I distract them.”
    They walked with purpose as the armored men neared. Klay was infamous for standing beside Tyrus during his trial, and Tyrus was huge, so anyone would put the two together. Shinari knights appeared in the doorway. Tyrus walked to the stairs. The knights were remnants of an army that he had destroyed in another life. He had no luck.
    Klay said, “Lord Borra, we need to discuss the bone lord. I would like priests to assist with containing his sorcery.”
    “Is that—”
    Borra pushed past Klay. “You, the Butcher, halt.”
    Tyrus could beat them to a bloody pulp. The threat didn’t bother him as much as the politics. Provoking the Shinari would be foolish; however, he refused to run and kept a steady stride. In Rosh, people might hate his deeds, but they gave him respect. Little fools filled Ironwall, and they thought to challenge him at every turn. He ignored the lord and