Storm Surge Read Online Free
beginning of them. Before, the First had been something he had accepted as another consequence of being the Rift King. His doubts resurfaced.
Like the existence of his Guardians, there was something he didn’t know about the creature in his head, and his ignorance bothered him. What was the First?
If the creature heard him, Kalen wasn’t acknowledged. It was expected, but it disappointed him all the same.
A horse’s nose bumped against Kalen’s chest. He lifted his hand to gently push the animal away. The soft muzzle was too large for either Honey or Ferethian. With a frown, he stoked the animal’s muzzle, trying to imagine the horse through feel alone. His fingers brushed against the smoothed leather of the horse’s bridle.
“Could you—”
The ground lurched beneath him. He pitched forward and would have fallen without the intervention of the horse. He ended up sprawled across the animal’s neck, spitting out strands of mane. The growing rumble of thunder drowned out the whinnies of frightened horses.
Kalen’s skin crawled. As if terrified of whatever was spooking the horses and making the ground shake, the First’s presence retreated. Kalen managed to straighten, clinging to the horse’s neck with his hand. “Maiten? What do you see?”
“Nothing,” was the clipped reply. A hand seized Kalen behind the elbow, steadying him as the ground continued to buck underneath him.
Kalen shuddered, pulling his arm free once certain he could remain standing without help. The trees creaked and groaned in protest. In the distance, wood splintered and cracked.
“Get to the camp and find out what’s going on,” he ordered, letting go of the horse.
“What about—”
“Go, Maiten! I’ll slow you down. I’m not going anywhere.” Kalen patted the animal’s neck, and managed to stand tall despite the way the ground heaved. “Now.”
Maiten spat curses at him, but the creak of leather revealed the man’s obedience.
Kalen’s heartbeat raced, and his breath caught in his throat. Quakes and rock slides happened in the Rift, but the way the ground writhed and bucked beneath him didn’t feel—or sound—the same. In the Rift, shelter was either found along the cliffs away from the edges of the trail or as far out in the open as possible.
The First urged him to follow his instinct and run. Kalen remained frozen in place. Even if he ran, where would he go? Without Maiten to guide him, fleeing would only cause problems. His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. If someone did want him dead, he had given them the perfect chance.
“Hellfires,” he muttered, trying to think of a way to be useful. The thought of the camp being attacked was short lived; what sort of army would it take to make the ground lurch beneath his feet? But in the slim chance it was an attack, there was one thing he could do. Without their horses, Rifters were at a disadvantage.
That was something he could rectify easily enough.
“Ferethian,” he barked out over the rumble. A neigh answered him. “Herd to Breton!”
The command wasn’t one he used often, although Breton had insisted he teach it to Ferethian. As with all things, his stallion had learned quickly.
A derisive snort answered him.
Kalen clenched his hand into a fist. “Curse you and your foals to the deeps, Ferethian. Now is not the time. Herd to Breton! ”
Ferethian made a sound so pathetic that it broke Kalen’s heart. Ignoring his stallion’s protests, he jerked his arm out and made a ‘move it!’ gesture he hoped the horse would recognize. Without knowing what was going on, arguing with the stallion was out of the question.
“Honey,” he called out. Within moments, the mare’s nose touched his hand. “Kneel.”
Unlike his stallion, she obeyed. With a low grown, he mounted. She rose at the touch of his heels against her sides.
Ferethian made one final, pained sound before Kalen became aware of the stallion’s presence departing. For a moment, he was tempted
Like the existence of his Guardians, there was something he didn’t know about the creature in his head, and his ignorance bothered him. What was the First?
If the creature heard him, Kalen wasn’t acknowledged. It was expected, but it disappointed him all the same.
A horse’s nose bumped against Kalen’s chest. He lifted his hand to gently push the animal away. The soft muzzle was too large for either Honey or Ferethian. With a frown, he stoked the animal’s muzzle, trying to imagine the horse through feel alone. His fingers brushed against the smoothed leather of the horse’s bridle.
“Could you—”
The ground lurched beneath him. He pitched forward and would have fallen without the intervention of the horse. He ended up sprawled across the animal’s neck, spitting out strands of mane. The growing rumble of thunder drowned out the whinnies of frightened horses.
Kalen’s skin crawled. As if terrified of whatever was spooking the horses and making the ground shake, the First’s presence retreated. Kalen managed to straighten, clinging to the horse’s neck with his hand. “Maiten? What do you see?”
“Nothing,” was the clipped reply. A hand seized Kalen behind the elbow, steadying him as the ground continued to buck underneath him.
Kalen shuddered, pulling his arm free once certain he could remain standing without help. The trees creaked and groaned in protest. In the distance, wood splintered and cracked.
“Get to the camp and find out what’s going on,” he ordered, letting go of the horse.
“What about—”
“Go, Maiten! I’ll slow you down. I’m not going anywhere.” Kalen patted the animal’s neck, and managed to stand tall despite the way the ground heaved. “Now.”
Maiten spat curses at him, but the creak of leather revealed the man’s obedience.
Kalen’s heartbeat raced, and his breath caught in his throat. Quakes and rock slides happened in the Rift, but the way the ground writhed and bucked beneath him didn’t feel—or sound—the same. In the Rift, shelter was either found along the cliffs away from the edges of the trail or as far out in the open as possible.
The First urged him to follow his instinct and run. Kalen remained frozen in place. Even if he ran, where would he go? Without Maiten to guide him, fleeing would only cause problems. His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. If someone did want him dead, he had given them the perfect chance.
“Hellfires,” he muttered, trying to think of a way to be useful. The thought of the camp being attacked was short lived; what sort of army would it take to make the ground lurch beneath his feet? But in the slim chance it was an attack, there was one thing he could do. Without their horses, Rifters were at a disadvantage.
That was something he could rectify easily enough.
“Ferethian,” he barked out over the rumble. A neigh answered him. “Herd to Breton!”
The command wasn’t one he used often, although Breton had insisted he teach it to Ferethian. As with all things, his stallion had learned quickly.
A derisive snort answered him.
Kalen clenched his hand into a fist. “Curse you and your foals to the deeps, Ferethian. Now is not the time. Herd to Breton! ”
Ferethian made a sound so pathetic that it broke Kalen’s heart. Ignoring his stallion’s protests, he jerked his arm out and made a ‘move it!’ gesture he hoped the horse would recognize. Without knowing what was going on, arguing with the stallion was out of the question.
“Honey,” he called out. Within moments, the mare’s nose touched his hand. “Kneel.”
Unlike his stallion, she obeyed. With a low grown, he mounted. She rose at the touch of his heels against her sides.
Ferethian made one final, pained sound before Kalen became aware of the stallion’s presence departing. For a moment, he was tempted