Embers of a Broken Throne Read Online Free Page A

agony and fear that Ryne felt it.
    “Please, no more, no more.” The Alzari’s voice was a mere croak. “I’ll tell you what you wish to know.”
    So Ryne asked the first question, and the man talked. He told of daemons and Skadwaz creating Wraithwoods, of harvesting villages and towns for sela and for recruitment into the armies of Amuni’s Children, of a strike into the heart of the Broken Lands, and a plan to conquer Benez. When the prisoner finished he had a resigned expression on his face, his eyes pleading.
    “That is all of it?”
    “All I know, yes.” A solitary tear trickled down the Alzari’s face.
    Ryne believed him. He chopped off the man’s head, ignited the remains, and left them burning. Gazing south, he touched the link to Ancel. It was time to return.

C hapter 3
    “W e leave in the morning.” Sitting cross-legged, relishing the fire’s warm, Irmina lowered the book she’d been reading. The entire day had passed and Ancel had yet to offer some protest or make demands of her again. In fact, he hadn’t brought up her expedition to the Travelshaft. Not once.
    “I would say be careful, but you will have more than enough protection.” He was lying on the furs they used for a bed. The artwork of Etchings covering his body glistened in the lamplight, colors, scenes, people, and animals seeming as if they could climb off his skin.
    “So you’re not worried then?”
    He sat up. She could tell where much of the Etchings on his chest were incomplete. Those on his right arm were seamless in comparison, not a spot of skin showing. His physique was quickly filling out with the rigorous exercise regimen he employed and his constant sword practice. He wasn’t quite a match for Ryne’s massive shoulders, arms and chest yet, but if he kept growing, it would be a close thing. Whether Ancel would grow to Ryne’s eight feet remained to be seen.
    “I’ll always be worried.” He gazed at her as if drinking in her appearance, making her face grow heated. “But you’ve seen death even before I was born. You might be more skilled with a blade than I, and in Mater you’re among the strongest here. Only a fool would think you incapable of protecting yourself. My worry is more because I love you and can’t help but think I’d go insane if something should happen to you.”
    “I feel the same way,” she admitted. “Except for the little part where you question whether I’m better than you with a sword. One day we shall settle that question.”
    He laughed, long and hearty. “I look forward to it. Now, continue reading to me.”
    A smile on her face, she returned her attention to the page. The book was called Travels in a Foreign Land, chronicling some Granadian scribe’s time spent in Ostania.
    “Of all the races, the Desorin are the most reclusive. And the strangest. I once thought the Cardians and Astocans held that distinction with the slits on the sides of their necks that they use to breathe and sense emotions, or even the Sven and Svenzar with their skin of stone or metal. But Desorin flesh is of a substance like the very ash that coats their home in places and frequently falls from the sky in the Broken Lands’ many firestorms. How they see is a mystery as their eyes are the purest white and lack irises. Their ears are nothing but holes with some type of skin like a lid that opens and closes. I cringe to think of them now.”
    “If you’d read this to me two years ago I would think it a joke,” Ancel said.
    Irmina smiled and continued to recite. “The Banai, with whom they trade, claim the Desorin are the greatest sailors to ever roam the seas, but I cannot see how that could be. Their land is covered in fire and ash, the only available water drawn from underground rivers and lakes. So how would they sail? The only ocean available to them is the Lost Sea. And it isn’t navigable. Not even the Banai or Cardians, both renowned for their prowess on the oceans would dare sail so far past the