Veiled Empire Read Free Page A

height, and carried an arsenal of weapons about his person that jangled with each sure step.
    “Filthy? Ha!” Yandumar held up his hands for inspection. “This is what us mortals call ‘hard work.’ Ever heard of it, old man?”
    “Indeed I have, yet it appears our respective definitions are somewhat disparate.”
    Yandumar was treading a ramp that led up to the wall where Gilshamed was standing. “You call what you do hard? All that silly hand waving? Don’t know as I’d use that word to describe it. Maybe something like—”
    “ ‘Impressive’?”
    “ ‘Ostentatious.’ ”
    “Is that so?” Gilshamed grinned. “Do you even know what that word means?”
    “Eh? Well . . . no. Not really. But I’m sure it fits you perfectly.”
    Yandumar stepped up next to him, and Gilshamed laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. His other arm swept over the pentagonal courtyard, the scene of their first victory. “I think that with results like this, we have earned the right to some measure of pride. How many met their gods today?”
    Yandumar’s visage became grave. “Of our men, only four gave their lives.”
    “And of the garrison?”
    “One. Poor fellow looked fine, so he was passed up for healing. Later, he just dropped dead. Must’ve been some kinda head wound.” He perked up with a crooked smile. “Then we have the daeloth.”
    They both swiveled their heads. Six corpses had been dragged into a line, their forms charred and smoking. Daeloth: half-breed spawn of mierothi. They looked human at first glance, but their mahogany skin and the scales on their backs set them apart. Bred for combat, they utilized both sorcery and martial aptitude to command the empire’s armies and to ensure that no one ever forgot who the true rulers of this shrouded continent were.
    Yandumar growled laughter. “Your tangle with them was . . . uh . . . Oh all right, I’ll say it. It was impressive. Mighty impressive. Shepherds are already saying you smote them bastards like the hand of Elos himself!”
    Gilshamed looked back, remembering the bright yellow lightning forking out from his fingertips, striking down each daeloth in its red-and-black armor, yet leaving the men around them untouched. The power they commanded was feeble, and their skill was a flaccid thing. None had so much as singed him with their counterattacks.
    “Of course,” continued Yandumar, “I don’t suspect they were too difficult an opponent for ya’, eh? You got in plenty of scraps with full mierothi back in your day, after all.”
    Gilshamed looked down; his eyes lost focus on the world around him. “Yes.”
    A key turned in his mind, unlocking a door that now flung wide open. Elos guard me . . . Into this room his inner eye dove, awakening ancient memories that had long lain dormant.
    The War of Rising Night, as it was known to his people, the valynkar, burst forth into a collage of vivid images. Images of fire and blood and war. Images of victory!
    But soon they seemed to melt like fresh paint under rain, becoming something else entirely. Ice and fear and darkness.
    Defeat.
    Gilshamed quivered as the depth of his failure crashed into him. As remembrance came of allies fallen, hopes crushed . . .
    . . . loves lost . . .
    Gilshamed retreated from the room in his mind and slammed the door. No more, please. I cannot bear it right now.
    “You alright, Gil?”
    The words snapped him back to the present. Over several beats, his eyes regained clarity of his surroundings. The pain from his deeply buried memories faded away like mist before the rising sun, and a smile sprouted on his lips.
    “Fine, Yan. I am fine now. I was merely reminiscing.”
    “Right. I forget how your kind gets sometimes. Makes me glad I’ll never live for thousands of years.”
    Gilshamed nodded, beginning between them a long moment of silence. Over the last six years, he had grown to cherish such times. Yandumar, he suspected, shared in this feeling. With