Embers of a Broken Throne Read Online Free

He’d give up a part of himself if he could have that back, a chance to tell Sakari all he knew, to prevent the netherling’s sacrifice over knowledge Ryne already possessed. Ryne cut off his line of thought. The pain was near unbearable, and uncontrolled thoughts were dangerous.
    The Alzari sputtered awake, drawing in a ragged breath. He looked around, eyes wild. They bulged when his gaze fell upon Ryne. He began to writhe frantically, the rope swinging with his momentum.
    Expressionless, Ryne watched him, turning a rabbit on a spit over the fire. Juices dripped and sizzled, the smell tantalizing. He took a sip of kinai juice from his water pouch, welcoming the near immediate rush of revitalization the sweet fruit provided.
    Some idea must have dawned on the Alzari. The man stopped his squirming, black eyes in a pasty face becoming cold pits. His brow furrowed in concentration.
    Smiling, Ryne sat back with the finished rabbit still on the stick. He ignored his prisoner, blew on the meat a few times, and then ripped off a chunk with his teeth. The flesh was succulent, lacking in spices, but tasty nonetheless. Ryne closed his eyes and chewed, letting out a little contented sigh. Almost two full days without food while hunting prey could take a toll on a man. Even one like himself.
    “No number of attempts will make any Forge you try more successful than the first time,” Ryne said, opening his eyes.
    The prisoner began his squirming again, rocking from side to side. Incoherent mumbles spilled from him.
    Ryne continued to eat, chewing slowly. He had all the time in the world. When he finished he stood.
    “I, on the other hand,” he said, cloak falling from his shoulders, “am unaffected by the Warping.” He removed his fur jacket, exposing the snug-fitting leather armor beneath. Forging, he set his Etchings alight.
    The Alzari gaped, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead despite the night’s chill. “No, no, please, no,” he wailed.
    The ghost of a smile curled Ryne’s lips at what the man must be seeing, the inability of the brain to process the act it took in. Here was a man Forging in the middle of an area with Warped essences. The feat should not have been possible. Unless this same man was an Eztezian or something more. The tapestry of Etchings covering Ryne’s body provided the final clue as to whom the prisoner faced.
    Ryne had been dressed as a farmer, bundled in furs and wool against the weather, when he first met the Alzari. After the previous torture session he no longer needed the guise. Fear was more important. The prisoner had to know his fate.
    A candle flame of pure light essence appeared at the tip of Ryne’s forefinger. He made a show of approaching the man with that one finger extended. “What you felt before is nothing compared to what you will suffer now.”
    “You, you will kill me anyway.”
    “I will, but you can dictate whether you die quick or let it last for months.”
    “Dear Amuni, help me,” the Alzari prayed. “The shade is my guide and my redemption, it leads me to all things great. I follow in Your most pious footsteps—”
    “Perhaps he hears you, but he cannot help you.” Ryne extended his middle finger, the two digits forming a V. He Forged an identical flame of pure shade on its tip. “His essence is also mine.”
    The prisoner opened his mouth to speak, but Ryne held up his other hand and stopped him.
    “The shade offers you peace, joy, some semblance of contentment, doesn’t it?” Ryne asked.
    A nod.
    “With the light I could cause you much pain.” Ryne wiggled his forefinger.
    The Alzari nodded again and swallowed.
    “Or I could simply leech the shade from you. Like so.” Ryne Forged again, this time, drawing from the essences that suffused the Alzari’s body. It was akin to being submerged in filth. The voices of Mater rose in his head, screaming. He thrust the power into his Etchings. Prima consumed them.
    The Alzari cried out, a sound so drenched in