The Way of the Black Beast Read Free

Drizzling rain did little to wash away the four grueling days spent hiking to the Nolan mansion. Torches burned in sconces on either side offering little light and less warmth. Four northern konapols growled at them. They were the smaller, domesticated version of the wild konapol, but like their relatives, they had thin gray fur that highlighted toned muscles, powerful front legs, and comical, wrinkled faces that hid vicious teeth. They were like pudgy, old men who would be glad to tear apart anyone dumb enough to cross them. Though tired and grumpy with hunger, Malja forced her mind to remain alert.
    As the gate opened, the clanking of old metal died along the muddy ground. One man appeared. A burly fellow wearing a torn tunic adorned with a white sash — an attempted uniform.
    "What you want?" he said, clearly unhappy at having to answer a night call in the rain.
    Malja held out the coin. The guard squinted, harrumphed, and headed away. He herded the northern konapols into two cages.
    "Come on," he yelled over his shoulder. "I ain't gonna carry ya."
    As they entered the grounds, Malja observed closely — marking exits and ambush points. Everywhere her eyes fell, she saw the simple miracles of civilization that the world had lacked since the Devastation. The pathway leading to the house had not been thrown together from scavenged concrete but rather had been meticulously laid with red and brown brick alternating in a subtle yet lovely pattern. Four enormous columns, good for defense, reached from the ground all the way to the overhanging roof three stories above. The foyer did not have the marks of decay and neglect but rather showed the tender care of a house staff working with meticulous pride every day. Even in the huge main room where they waited, claw-shaped sconces buzzed with lightning balls pointing to the employment of magicians — just like in ancient days. They cast a brash, pale light on the stone walls.
    Tommy took interest in a marble statue standing in an alcove. Two waterways in the floor trickled small streams down the center of the room, and Tommy hopped over them in several boyish bounces. The statue that had caught his eye depicted a hefty, bald man with a beard reaching to his feet — the Prophet Galot who learned the will of Korstra, brother god of Kryssta, and brought it to the enlightened. Malja knew nothing more of the story. She never had a use for religion.
    "That's over two thousand years old," Nolan said, entering the room in a crimson gown as if waiting to host a grand ball. The lines on her face suggested she had been waiting a long time. Though stark and cold in demeanor, she had a disarming, pleasant voice. "My apology for the lack of welcome, but my staff is asleep. They work hard for me, keep this place running and I give them a roof and a full belly. But if I push too hard, they'd probably leave."
    "I suspect people would put up with a lot to live here," Malja said.
    Clasping her hands together, Ms. Nolan said, "So you're the great Malja. I half expected flames to burn from your eyes."
    "That's a new one. Usually I'm ten-feet tall with the muscles of a betron."
    Ms. Nolan's mouth opened in a hideous grin. "Stories of me are equally exaggerated ... mostly. Now, what do you want?"
    "I'd like to know why you're trying to have me killed." Malja had not intended to be so blunt, but the old lady had a way about her that opened things up. Magic? Malja wondered. Other than in fairy tales, she had never heard of mind-controlling spells, but few people knew the full extent of magic and its uses.
    Ms. Nolan appeared puzzled. "I assure you, I don't wish you dead. I have no reason to."
    Malja reached behind her and gripped Viper, but a thought stopped her from pulling the weapon out. Nobody had frisked her. Nobody had even asked her to give up her weapons. Malja found herself, once again, wishing she had listened better to Gregor, her adoptive father. He had tried to teach her about magicians, but