The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold Read Free

floors of the buildings, but it seemed intact, even after so much time. He reached out a tentative hand, and his fingers left lines in the dust, revealing smooth lacquer and brightly painted designs that shone in the torchlight. One room, and it contained more riches that he could possibly carry!
    He dropped to one knee, setting down his spear and shield to remove the backpack. He scanned the smaller vases, lamps, and bowls, deciding what to take. He would carry a few pieces back to his circle to examine while he waited for dawn to come, and then return for the rest.
    He was sliding a delicate vase into the pack when he heard the rumble. Thinking he had dislodged something and the stack of pottery was about to topple, he grabbed his spear and brought up the torch.
    But there was no sign of teetering pottery, and the rumble sounded again, this time almost a growl, a few guttural “r’s” floating in the darkness.
    Forgetting the pottery, Arlen snatched up his shield, slowly turning towards the sound. A sand demon must have followed him into the room, stalking as quietly as it could, but unable to quell the animal instinct in its throat.
    Arlen turned a slow circuit, holding his torch out far and scanning the room, but there was no sign of any demon. He gave a sudden start and glanced upwards, but there was nothing above waiting to drop on him. He shuddered and forced himself to keep looking.
    He almost missed it, but for another faint growl that came while his torch happened to be in the right place. It seemed a plain adobe wall at first, but then part of the wall . . . shifted.
    There was a demon there. Even staring right at it, the coreling was almost invisible. Its armor was the exact orange of the clay, and had the same rough texture. It was small, no bigger than a medium-sized dog, but it was compact in a way that spoke of powerful bunched muscle, and its claws left deep grooves in the adobe walls. Arlen had never seen the like.
    The coreling wriggled slightly, tamping, and then gave a great roar as it uncoiled and launched itself at him.
    “Night!” Arlen screamed as he put up his shield, wondering if the wards would even hold against this new breed of coreling. Wards were picky like that, each made to block a specific type of demon. There was some overlap, but nothing to gamble one’s life upon.
    Magic flared as the demon struck his shield, knocking Arlen over, but even as the wards activated, Arlen knew they would not hold forever. No demon should have been able to touch his shield at all, but this one held on tenaciously against the force of the magic trying to repel it.
    The demon was heavier than it looked, but Arlen got his weight under the shield and lifted, driving hard into the adobe wall. The coreling’s claws lost purchase with the impact, and the magic, still pushing hard against the prone demon, flung Arlen backwards instead. He landed in the pile of pottery, smashing much of the priceless artwork.
    “Corespawn it!” he cursed, but there was no time to lament, for the demon hurled itself into the pile, scattering clay shards everywhere. Arlen was jabbed and cut from all sides by the jagged clay bits as he tried to put his feet under him.
    He managed to get his shield up as the clay demon leapt at him again, but the demon dug its claws in deep and pulled so hard that the leather straps around Arlen’s forearm snapped, and the shield was pulled from his grasp. He stumbled frantically backwards, trying to get away from the creature before it could untangle itself and come at him again. It would be a long run back to his portable circles without his shield, and from what he had just seen, there was no guarantee his circles would even hold the creature back.
    The demon leapt again, but Arlen had his spear up, stabbing the creature right in the center of its chest. It was a powerful blow from a fine weapon, but even the weakest coreling had armor enough to turn a speartip. The point failed to pierce, but