The Path of Destruction (Rune Breaker) Read Free Page A

members on their accomplishments in spellcraft with very complex and strict views on what types of spellcraft had merit. But even in the unusual system of hierarchy that existed in the Kimean Isles, an aristocrat was an aristocrat, and Lord Crossius lived up to expectations by arriving two hours after his underlings were all expected to be ready for him.
    The household staff was arrayed in neat ranks according to their station in the receiving hall when the retinue finally arrived.
    Tolere watched their arrival with trepidation and more bitterness than was healthy, but managed to maintain his best posture. He was front and center as the main doors were opened. Storm winds rudely preceded the lord, lashing the servants nearest the doors with cold rain. Just behind it came the oddly small procession of Nhan Raduul's long absent master.
    Lord Ienstadt Crossius entered without a herald to announce him. Tall and thin, he looked much like Tolere remembered him from years ago: the same weak jaw and narrow nose, the same pale skin, and impassive, unchanging expression. His taste of clothing still hadn't changed either. In place of the light, close fitting style preferred in the hotter climes of the islands, Crossius wore extravagant robes in the style of Mindeforme. The only sign that time held any sway over him was the silver that now colored his normally black hair.
    He, of course, was as dry as a desert at noon, thanks no doubt to the spell that hovered above him, occasionally flashing a translucent red and revealing a shape not unlike an enormous jellyfish when the gusting wind drove rain in his direction.
    Also with him was his bride, the Lady Milfine. In all his years serving the couple, Tolere couldn't recall ever seeing her face. Like her husband, she adopted the robes of Mindeforme, but she also supplemented it with a hood that covered all but her eyes; and a veil that covered those. It was a practice she claimed was from Callen, but Tolere had never heard of such a thing.
    She stood in the protection of the barrier, alongside a new face in the Lord's company: a young woman.
    This one was dressed expensively, but in a practical manner: a fitted shirt, dyed dark blue with ivory toggles, heavy trousers of the same color, tied together with a white satin sash, and a spider-silk cloak in white. Her hair was golden, the color storybooks gave to princesses, but she kept it in a utilitarian ponytail held in place by metal decorations of some sort. On her shoulder perched a fantastic specimen of tropical bird; a green, blue and yellow creature whose long tail trailed down the woman's back.
    Behind them came porters, hauling the usual array of chests and oilcloth wrapped packages. Four young men were also carrying something concealed by a tarp and supported between metal poles. By the care they took with it, Tolere was certain they had either been bribed or threatened in regard to its handling.
    At his signal, the whole of the household genuflected to their lord as a sign of respect.
    Crossius drew up short as if he originally intended to walk right through without stopping. Soon however, one thin eyebrow raised and he gestured out of hand. “Rise.”
    The servants slowly did as told. Tolere scrambled to standing and hurried forward like an eager dog. It was humiliating, but that was life in the Kimean Isles.
    “My lord! We are most grateful that the day has finally come for you to return to us.” He stopped a respectful distance away, “As you directed, I have acted as steward in your absence and I dearly hope that you are happy with what I've done these past few years.”
    “It will do.” said Crossius, then he stepped to one side and indicated the young woman. “This is my ward, acquired during my travels; Layaka Emeries-Partha. Her word is to be considered my own.”
    Layaka nodded once and went back to openly leering at one of the maids.
    Tolere made silent note of that. In any other nation, that look might merely indicate