Dark Warrior Rising Read Online Free Page A

Even here, in the Araed—to say nothing of entire cities who cleave to … other worship.”
    Brylyaun shuddered. “Evil, perverted Nifl, the priestesses say.”
    â€œNo doubt.” Orellaun’s voice was wry. “And all of them delicately reared shes who’ve seldom ventured into the Araed, let alone outside of Talonnorn—so that they know so much of the world.”
    â€œBut surely their holy teachings …”
    â€œâ€˜But surely’ nothing. Do your elders tell you all, or just what they think you should know, and no more?”
    Brylyaun blushed, his obsidian-dark skin going pale. “Well, I am young—as they constantly remind me.”
    â€œAnd I am older,” Orellaun said dryly, “and have … seen more of what is out in the Dark.”
    The younger Nifl turned, so sharply that it was almost a challenge. “And if I saw all of those things, right now, it would change me how, exactly? Spare me the claims it would drive me mad, or kill me outright. I hope you know me better than that.”

    â€œI do.” Orellaun turned away from the window, where hot oil was dousing the slaves, and their frightened screams were rising. “So they would probably just make you weep, and tremble, and wet yourself as you stopped believing in Olone, and the Holy Way. There is more to life than the endless pursuit of beauty—or should be.”
    Brylyaun started to tremble, and suddenly snatched at the hilt of his sword.
    Only to discover it missing.
    It was in Orellaun’s grasp, and raised warningly against him—as was the older Nifl’s own blade, in Orellaun’s other hand.
    â€œBlasphemers move faster,” came the dry explanation.
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    â€œWhy is this one walled away from the rest?”
    â€œOn various occasions, six other slaves have been put to work alongside him. All ended up in the Rift.”
    â€œ What? So why not hurl him in, and be done with the trouble? A rebellious slave is the start of—”
    â€œYes, but this rebellious slave is the best forgefist in Talonnorn. Olone spew, he’s the best firefist in Talonnorn!”
    â€œOh. So worth the six, and more besides. I see. ‘Forgefist’ I know, but what’s a ‘firefist’?”
    â€œForgefist is anyone who can work metal, firefist is one who can create new things with it, knows metal through and through, can temper and taper and make tiny and intricate things—and make it all seem easy. This one works fast, and it’s superb work. House Evendoom has the finest swords and locks in the city because of him.”
    â€œHmm. So, can we see this wonder?”
    â€œFrom this side of the Rift should be safe enough.”
    The Master of the Forges led the way through no less than three magical barriers that flared and faded into tingling slumber at his approach, and along a narrow track between the glowing heat of the Rift and tall heaps of ores. When he came to a certain height of rock, he stopped and looked across the river of molten rock. His gaze was cold. “There: Orivon Firefist. As good a firefist as there is.”
    The Nifl trader looked, crooked an eyebrow, and said slowly, “Well … he’s a bit of a brute, now, isn’t he?”
    The Master nodded. “Watch.”

    â€œWho are those two?”
    â€œHis owner, the Lady Taerune Evendoom, and the overseer assigned to that part of the Rift: a gorkul slave we call Grunt Tusks.”
    â€œHe’s glaring at them like they’re hated enemies he’s about to carve up in battle!”
    â€œHe always does. Watch.”
    The trader chuckled. “Ha. That look earned him a taste of the lash, of course.”
    They watched the slender, graceful Nifl-she wield her long lash with skilled viciousness, slicing deeply into the rippling shoulders and arms of the human slave. His glare never wavered, even when she spun the lash across his face, slicing