The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

moisture began to work its way into
the cracks, softening the hard, dry skin and dulling the pain.
    The mirror above the sink was so clean, Raith could see every
age line in his face, the wrinkles above his bristled brow, and each graying
hair that conspired against him in display of his years. His broad shoulders were
yoked to a stout neck and strapping flanks, tapering down to an abdomen that
wasn’t as muscled as it used to be. Not many things are like they used to be ,
he reminded himself. Tomorrow is set to be the most pivotal day of my tenure
as Head Councilor. Maybe even the most pivotal day in Decylum’s history. If the
council accepts Loren Horner’s plan, we will have consigned to send our best
hunters to their deaths. So I must hold to whatever hope I have that my fellow councilors
are wiser, in the end, than I believe them to be .

CHAPTER 3
    The Mulligraws
    Lizneth peered out from her hiding place among the
beanstalks as the Marauders were shouldering the last few sacks of grain.
Rotabak was with them, the brown-and-white buck who was always gawking at her
with that lazy eye of his. When he turned toward the village, she drew back
into the shadows. Is it his good eye, or the one askew he sees better with? She couldn’t remember.
    Soon the Marauders’ footsteps were clunking over the river
bridge and starting down the gravel path toward their stronghold in the rime
caves. Lizneth twitched her whiskers and scented for their haick on the
air, emerging from her hiding place only after she was satisfied they were
gone. Kroy the miller was getting back to his feet by the time she got to him.
She helped him dust off his leather jerkin and clean up the mess of boxes and
burlap sacks the Marauders had left.
    “Did you see that? I wasn’t even giving them trouble this
time,” said Kroy, as if Lizneth needed convincing. “I give them the goods nice
and easy and they’re just as rough as ever.”
    “Don’t pay them any mind, Kroy. It makes no difference
whether you give in or not. They push us around because they think it’s their
right.”
    Kroy sniffed and looked around nervously, running his fingers
down his snout. The fur on his neck was standing on end, his longteeth
chattering as if he’d caught a chill. He wiped away the drop of blood running
from his wet pink nose. “It is their right,” he said. “They’ve made it their
right. That’ll be the way of things as long as we’re us and they’re them.”
    Lizneth didn’t know what to say. Kroy was right, and he
didn’t need her consolation to be certain of it. “I’d better be getting home,”
she said. “I should make sure everyone’s okay.”
    Kroy gave a brief nod, perking his ears to listen for
trouble. “Be safe, cuzhe .”
    Lizneth snatched up her wicker basket and darted past the
mud-and-thatch cottage that belonged to Skrikkit, the old banded roan who
tended the mushroom pads. He had a damp, earthy haick about him, and she
didn’t want to smell like mushrooms, so she always hurried by and hoped he
wasn’t in the mood for one of his discourses on the intricacies of fungal
farming.
    The river bridge’s ironwood planks croaked beneath Lizneth’s
feet, old things, but sturdy. Fisherfolk waved to her from the burbling waters
below, their tails swishing in the shallows, hooked and baited for glowfish.
Rows of silkvein were budding in the north fields, its bitter, sweet smell
mingling with that of the blooming red leaves of heart’s cress, starchy
broadroot, plump bittermelons, and shoots of orenseed. None of the crops were
ready for picking yet, so the Marauders had only been able to lick their lips
and count on their fingers how many days it would be until the harvest.
    Gazhakk was sitting on the old bench in front of his hovel, grinding
spices with his mortar and pestle. He had a meager dwelling, a small cave set
into the cavern wall next to the rusted metal monstrosity the villagers called
the Dead-end Door. The door had been there for