The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One) Read Online Free
reflexively to the spot, fingers probing past the tear in his shirt to the cold scales beneath. If not for the armor it would have drawn blood, he was sure. What if it had hit him on the head? What then?
Thinking it better not to find out, he hastened into the entrance. When he reached the far wall, he cowered against it, but still wasn’t safe. Thunder shook the cave as hail battered the rock against which he was pressed. A flash of lightning revealed an adjoining chamber.
Surrendering fully to his fear, he stood and rushed into it, guided by the continued flashes, going from chamber to chamber, ever deeper into the earth. In time, he could no longer see the flashes, and the thunder became nothing more than a muffled drumming. Standing there, trying to catch his breath, he realized he was completely spent, inexplicably so—more exhausted than the exertion and even emotional strain could account for, more exhausted than he’d been his entire life.
Moments later, he was surprised and somewhat unnerved to discover that he could no longer remain upright. He needed rest...and he needed it now. Struggling in vain against the sudden fatigue, he slid down the wall to the cold stone of the floor, wrapped his arms around his body, and fell into unnatural deep sleep—becoming swept away, almost immediately, by a disturbingly vivid dream.
* * *
Andaris flew over jagged mountain peaks and thick pinewood forest, over green hills and sparkling streams, swooping low, then catching an updraft and sailing high, reveling in his freedom, in the fresh air and sunshine on his feathers.
Around and around he went, spiraling ever higher into the crisp blue of the sky. He was the hawk he’d seen the day before, the one that had given him the evil eye as he’d stood poised on the border of Fingar. Home, he thought. I’m going home.
Soon the forest began to thin and the first farmhouses began to appear, nestled here and there amidst the rolling green hills, with their square fields of wheat and corn, small stands of oak trees, and little blue ponds. That’s Uncle Del’s place, he thought, recognizing the broken-down wagon in front of the house, vegetable gardens along the sides, and new barn in the back that, just last week, he and his brothers had helped to build.
Soaring past his uncle’s place, he saw Fairhaven appear on the horizon, shining like a jewel in the morning light. Anxious to see his family again, he wheeled north towards his parents’ house, passing over the shingled rooftop of the inn, then the stables, the blacksmith’s shop, and the general store. He saw Mrs. Greenwich and her three voluptuous daughters walking towards the temple, all wearing their finest dresses—fair heads held high, backs straight, noses up.
Andaris chuckled at the commotion in their wake, at the men gesturing and smiling, at the women whispering behind their hands, at the wives nudging their husbands in the ribs. How he as a hawk could chuckle he did not know, nor did he, at the present, care. He saw Mr. Brody and his son driving their team of Mindarian studhorses out of town, and Old Man Tucker hobbling along with his cane, leering at everyone and everything. Yes, Fairhaven was exactly as he’d left it, exactly as it should be.
As Andaris neared the outskirts of his father’s land, however, he spotted something that wasn’t exactly as it should be. Directly ahead, a thick column of smoke rose from behind a wooded hill. Troubled by the sight, he tucked in his wings and went into a dive, pulling up just before he hit the tops of the trees—at which point the dream became a nightmare. As he’d feared, it was his parent’s house that was on fire.
Grandfather Rocaren came stumbling out the front door, coughing and covered in soot, carrying Jorden over his left shoulder. He laid Jorden on the ground beside Andaris’ father, who also appeared unconscious, and with a look of steely
Thinking it better not to find out, he hastened into the entrance. When he reached the far wall, he cowered against it, but still wasn’t safe. Thunder shook the cave as hail battered the rock against which he was pressed. A flash of lightning revealed an adjoining chamber.
Surrendering fully to his fear, he stood and rushed into it, guided by the continued flashes, going from chamber to chamber, ever deeper into the earth. In time, he could no longer see the flashes, and the thunder became nothing more than a muffled drumming. Standing there, trying to catch his breath, he realized he was completely spent, inexplicably so—more exhausted than the exertion and even emotional strain could account for, more exhausted than he’d been his entire life.
Moments later, he was surprised and somewhat unnerved to discover that he could no longer remain upright. He needed rest...and he needed it now. Struggling in vain against the sudden fatigue, he slid down the wall to the cold stone of the floor, wrapped his arms around his body, and fell into unnatural deep sleep—becoming swept away, almost immediately, by a disturbingly vivid dream.
* * *
Andaris flew over jagged mountain peaks and thick pinewood forest, over green hills and sparkling streams, swooping low, then catching an updraft and sailing high, reveling in his freedom, in the fresh air and sunshine on his feathers.
Around and around he went, spiraling ever higher into the crisp blue of the sky. He was the hawk he’d seen the day before, the one that had given him the evil eye as he’d stood poised on the border of Fingar. Home, he thought. I’m going home.
Soon the forest began to thin and the first farmhouses began to appear, nestled here and there amidst the rolling green hills, with their square fields of wheat and corn, small stands of oak trees, and little blue ponds. That’s Uncle Del’s place, he thought, recognizing the broken-down wagon in front of the house, vegetable gardens along the sides, and new barn in the back that, just last week, he and his brothers had helped to build.
Soaring past his uncle’s place, he saw Fairhaven appear on the horizon, shining like a jewel in the morning light. Anxious to see his family again, he wheeled north towards his parents’ house, passing over the shingled rooftop of the inn, then the stables, the blacksmith’s shop, and the general store. He saw Mrs. Greenwich and her three voluptuous daughters walking towards the temple, all wearing their finest dresses—fair heads held high, backs straight, noses up.
Andaris chuckled at the commotion in their wake, at the men gesturing and smiling, at the women whispering behind their hands, at the wives nudging their husbands in the ribs. How he as a hawk could chuckle he did not know, nor did he, at the present, care. He saw Mr. Brody and his son driving their team of Mindarian studhorses out of town, and Old Man Tucker hobbling along with his cane, leering at everyone and everything. Yes, Fairhaven was exactly as he’d left it, exactly as it should be.
As Andaris neared the outskirts of his father’s land, however, he spotted something that wasn’t exactly as it should be. Directly ahead, a thick column of smoke rose from behind a wooded hill. Troubled by the sight, he tucked in his wings and went into a dive, pulling up just before he hit the tops of the trees—at which point the dream became a nightmare. As he’d feared, it was his parent’s house that was on fire.
Grandfather Rocaren came stumbling out the front door, coughing and covered in soot, carrying Jorden over his left shoulder. He laid Jorden on the ground beside Andaris’ father, who also appeared unconscious, and with a look of steely
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