Dark Warrior Rising Read Online Free Page B

it deeply as well.
    Unflinching, the human kept his burning gaze on her, ignoring the gorkul’s heavy studded goad—and the burly, snorting tusker wielding it—completely. Through the dripping blood, his eyes bored into those of his owner, even when she spoke sharply—just what she said was lost in the clangs and crashings of forgefists at work, up and down the Rift—and struck him across the face again and again.
    The gorkul moved in to join the relentless whipping, clubbing heavier blows onto the firefist until at last the human was driven to his knees.
    Whereupon the Nifl-she, obviously tired, let her lash fall and stood gasping and trembling, obviously struggling to regain her temper. They glared at each other, owner and slave—until she abruptly took something from her belt, threw it to the blood-spattered stone in front of him, and turned away.
    â€œHealing magic,” the trader said. “Repairing the valued possession she’s damaged.”
    The Master of the Forges, who had seen this so many times before, merely nodded.
    The gorkul lingered to watch the slave seize the means of relief, but Orivon Firefist made no move to take it up. On his knees in his blood, unbroken, he glowered at Grunt Tusks until the overseer shrugged, spat, and turned to follow Lady Evendoom.
    The human slave glowered after them. Defiant.

2
    Leisurely Unfolding Doom

    Olone is perfection.
Olone is beauty.
Olone is all.
Be like unto Olone, and rise in her regard.
    â€”Niflghar chant

    T aerune was in a hurry, excitement building in her—and when Taerune was excited, she used her whip.
    The sharp cracks of the lash, and the shouts of startled pain it caused, turned heads up and down the busy street.
    She strode purposefully, viciously slashing everyone in her way aside—fools, surely they should have learned by now ?—as she went. No business in Talonnorn came before Evendoom business, and none of House Evendoom’s many schemes could be so urgent, so thirsty for the soonest moment just now, as this.
    The crowded street was clearing as lesser Nilfghar hastened to be elsewhere, snapping commands to hulking gorkul porters and waddling pack-snouts. A whip scar across the face brings no one closer to Olone. Taerune of Evendoom quickened her pace, gleaming boots clacking on the damp scorchstone.
    She could have used the family tunnels, of course. The Eventowers and the Forgerift were both within the House grounds, and the work crew of House servants behind her—Nameless Nifl, all—could have traveled much faster within the Evendoom gates. But marching openly
through the city, thrusting lesser Nifl aside, was the whole point of this journey. Making a show is what ruling Houses did —and Taerune of Evendoom loved to be seen.
    She had always loved to be seen, from the first admiring or amused glances her infantile preenings had drawn, long ago, to the open throat-swallowing admirations Nifl—and even less-than-Nifl, the beasts like gorkul and the hairy humans—gave her now.
    They warmed her like deepfire. And why not? Every admiring glance is, after all, a prayer to Olone. Taking care to let not the slightest hint of a wry smile touch her set and perfect lips, Taerune of Evendoom slashed her way toward the waiting fires.
    Nifl take heed: House Evendoom strides first, and all Talonnorn gets out of its way.
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    In the gleaming depths of the watch-whorl, the sleek and breathtakingly beautiful Nifl female strode imperiously down the street, her black whip cleaving a path through the crowds.
    One of the watchers bent intently over the whorl-glow growled softly, deep in his throat. It was a growl—almost a purr—of admiration and idle lust.
    He never took his eyes off what the whorl showed him: ears that were ever so finely pointed, and big, tilted-teardrop eyes filled with the cold fire of cruel contempt. Graceful curves and limbs, a slender waist and flat stomach that