The Trials Of Ashbarn ( Book 5) Read Free Page A

slashed across his gut, allowing his innards to spill onto the floor.
    With more men flooding through the doorway, the mystics’ sole ally would soon be horribly outnumbered. But fear was not what gripped him. This had been a suicide mission from the start. The only thing to do now was to find a way to buy Berkeni every possible second. Mind racing, he glanced to the only possible way he could buy enough time for the others to complete the ritual. Must cut off the stairway. Hold them as long as I can .
    He dashed across the room and down the short hallway, paying no attention to the surrounding fires. The oil-fueled flames were already beginning to die down, and there was very little material here that could burn anyway. A red-haired mercenary beat him to the bottom step, but a quick three-slash combination—one on his arm and two across the chest—left him incapacitated. The assassin jumped over the larger man’s mortally wounded body, then turned to face the quickly growing mob while he backed his way up the stairs. Showing little sympathy for their fallen brother, the body was simply pushed aside as he bled out. Instead of rushing up the stairwell, the leathers stalked up single file, matching the killer step for step.
    The assassin decided the stairs were a good place to make a stand. At best, they could only attack two at a time, given how narrow the steps were. Not great odds, but better than being surrounded and eventually swarmed. He blinked before rethinking the math here. Yes, two could stand side by side on this stairwell, but could two actually fight that way? Arms flailing about like that? And what of the man opposite the wall’s support? Surely he would likely fall off the edge and die on the stone below.
    Yes, this will do , thought the assassin as he kept on backing his way up the steps. However, he didn’t want to lead them straight to Berkeni either. At some point he would have to turn offensive and hold the position. I won’t let any of you stop them. You fools have no idea what’s at stake .
    * * *
    The figures in brown cloaks surrounded the baby, each with their open hands pointed to the skylight. The infant lay there quietly throughout their constant chanting. “Ohimemackaraoome,” they moaned over and over, swaying back and forth. This went on for several minutes, Berkeni standing next to the child in silence. His eyes bounced nervously between the windowed ceiling above and the open doorway. Chaotic sounds of battle carried off the walls and down the hall, making it impossible to determine how much time they had.
    Now feeling the proper flow of energy at last, Berkeni opened the book where his finger had been reserving the page. Any one of these mystics would easily be the most powerful man within ten thousand miles of any random location. Yet here they all stood, working together as a single unit—a miracle in itself. This was the kind of raw power needed on this day. This was the kind of skill necessary to bring the world of man into a new age. There would be no margin for error. Failure was not an option.
    Berk eni smiled down at the child. He grinned back, those dark eyes glistening in the low light. “If only I were as brave as you are, little one,” the older man whispered. Suddenly his face hardened, and he refocused on the task at hand. He joined in the chant for a minute, then his eyes fell back to the book. He began to read aloud, “Tramenathokudabendin...”
    Berkeni’s eyes rolled up in his head, changing into milky white orbs. Tongue-twisting gibberish began to spill from his mouth, words that went far beyond the complexity of an ancient language. The sounds were sharp and guttural, like they were never meant to roll off the tongue of a human. His voice became a low growl, the rolling, gurgling sounds of an ancient beast.
    In a sudden gesture, Berkeni thrust his hands into the air, his eyes flashing back to normal. Lightning crackled across the sky and the rain intensified.