Grym Prophet (Song of the Aura, Book Three)

• Title Page
  
• Chapter One: Broken Boundaries
  
• Chapter Two: Pirates?
  
• Chapter Three: Pirates. Pirates Indeed.
  
• Chapter Four: Smoke Rises
  
• Chapter Five: Grim Laughter
  
• Chapter Six: Almost
  
• Chapter Seven: Calloway
  
• Chapter Eight: The Swaying Willow
  
• Chapter Nine: Barfight
  
• Chapter Ten: Comings and Meetings
  
• Chapter Eleven: And So It Began
  
• Chapter Twelve: Forest of Foretelling
  
• Chapter Thirteen: Blood Ties
  
• Chapter Fourteen: Wisdom. Sorrow. Love.
  
• Chapter Fifteen: Together
  
• Chapter Sixteen: World Grows Dark
  
• Chapter Seventeen: The Wrong Hero
  
• Chapter Eighteen: World Bleeds Gold
  
• Chapter Nineteen: When Stone Met Sky
  
• Chapter Twenty: The Prophet, the Prince, and the Pirate
  

Grym Prophet

Song of the Aura

Book Three

A Novel by Gregory J. Downs

Copyright 2011

This book is dedicated to my family,

Who give me strength;

To my friends,

Who give me support;

And to the Lord,

Who gives me inspiration.

Chapter One: Broken Boundaries

Lauro’s eyes eased open as his last, violent dream ended and his mind came into wakefulness. He lay in the bed the Reethe had given him, staring at the ceiling and listening to the snores coming from Gribly, where the reformed thief lay at the other end of the room.

The time had come. He would make his move tonight, and with any luck would never hear those snores again.

Lauro closed his eyes, but did not fall asleep. His consciousness was bright and alive, fueled by adrenaline and kept sharp by the rigorous exercises he had kept up during his stay with the Reethe. Gribly kept snoring beside him, unexpectedly bringing back memories of the time when they had still been allies, fighting to stay alive in the sand arenas of Blast Desert. Though he still knew what he was about to do was necessary, some part of him still regretted the friendship he was about to sever.

And, of course, there was Elia.

Lauro opened his eyes again, listening. Gribly’s breaths remained even, so he slipped out of bed, fully clothed and prepared for a long, wet journey. Elia. Lauro sneered, more at himself than her. He would
not
go down that path, not now.

From the smooth white floorboards beneath his bed, Lauro produced a tough gray satchel and slung it over his shoulder, then bent down and brought out an extra pillow and heavy blanket. With these he soon created a passable imitation of a prone body, which he stuffed under his sheets and covered with the lip of another blanket. As good a decoy as could be made.

Straightening, Lauro headed for the door with a grin on his face, taking care not to make sounds that could wake Gribly. Time for another quest- and
this
time, he would not fail.

Two more stops, and he’d be free.

Sliding down dark, frosty hallways and quietly descending drafty staircases, the prince was soon at his first destination: the Reethe armory.

“Wind Strider?” the guard’s voice was curious but unafraid as Lauro approached from down the wide, frostrock hallway.

“Hail, Patnel,” the prince answered, bowing slightly. “Sleep escapes me tonight. How goes your watch?” He had spent a large amount of his time befriending this and other members of the fortress guard who dwelt in the Sanquegrad, all in preparation for this one night. Now his efforts would pay off, if he kept his head.

He was soon deep in casual conversation with Patnel, who seemed as willing as any man to have jovial company in the lonely night’s watch. Soon, seated at a low whitewood table in one corner of the armory, they shared a bottle of the strange blue wine perfected by the Reethe. As they talked animatedly of the events that had so recently rocked the Reethe city of Mythigrad to its core, Lauro stealthily scanned the tall racks of weapons and armor that lined each wall of the armory, twenty feet high, twice as wide, and almost four times as long. There was no doubt at all in his mind that he could find a suitable weapon here to replace the shortsword he had lost in the wreck of the
Mirrorwave
almost two weeks ago.

“…As I was saying,” Patnel continued in the high-pitched, slow accent most nymphs who could speak the common tongue acquired, “there isn’t much we can know- or hope to know, really- about the Aura who dwells in the Grymclaw. We Reethe have had few enough dealings with the outside world in the past, and even fewer now that we’ve split with our M’tant brethren in the Blackwood. Not to mention the fact that no one’s actually ever
met
one of the Aura before… it’s only rumors that say one lives in the Grymclaw at all…” And on and on.

Lauro had heard most of it already, and from more reliable sources than Patnel. There were few towns and no cities in the bleak peninsula of the Grymclaw, but if he was to survive he would need to find at least one of them. He thought he could, without much trouble; then it would just be a matter of time before he could figure out from rumors where the legendary being was said to abide. With his ever-increasing powers over the wind, he could easily move on from there.

“…do you suppose?” finished Patnel, sitting back and propping his feet up on the table, obviously waiting for an answer to his question. Lauro’s mind raced- what had the guard been saying? Suddenly, the answer came to him, and he almost laughed.

“I don’t know about the others,” Lauro answered, a little too quickly, “But my wind-striding will help me find the Aura the quickest, for sure.”

“How so?” Patnel asked, raising an eyebrow and swigging more wine from a whitewood tumbler. Lauro sipped at his own, eyeing Patnel’s for a second before meeting the nymph’s eyes.

“You’re draining the drink rather quickly, aren’t you?” Lauro chuckled, and Patnel grinned, his teeth stained blue. “More?”

“Indeed-
hic
!” smiled the guard, passing his cup. Lauro swayed as he took it, acting more inebriated than he actually was. When he grasped for the wine bottle, it fell on its side, spilling out over Patnel’s side of the table. The nymph cursed good-naturedly, hiccupping as he righted it. Two seconds for his gaze to be distracted, but it was enough. Lauro took the bottle from him and poured the rest of its contents into Patnel’s tumbler before passing it back. “Thankee,” the nymph grinned, sounding for all the world like any common human drunk that Lauro had ever encountered. The prince nodded shakily, acknowledging the thanks, and mopped up the spill with a rag lying nearby, usually used to polish blades.

“Well, now,” the guard finally said, “about that power of yours.” He leaned forward, an eager glint in his eye.

“What of it?” Lauro asked as innocently as he could. Patnel’s face was turning a bit red. Good.

“Do you really think you can find the Aura on your own?” The abrupt nature of the question caught Lauro off guard.

“Well, yes, I do,” he admitted.

“You really mean to run off, then?” questioned the guard.

The prince leapt back from the table, aided by a gust of wind he summoned in his surprise. His chair clattered to the floor. “Wha- what do you mean?” he stuttered, his chest constricting with the realization that he’d been caught.

“Augh, come now,” Patnel smiled coldly, pushing himself up from his seat and leaning forward conspiratorially, “Think you that you had gone so unnoticed? Pulled the wool over our eyes, as humans say? Your own friends are too clever for that. The Raitharch’s been listening to them, and they’ve been telling him to keep an eye on you… which he has, through me… and others. Your willingness to ply me with drink and your obvious travelling clothes are just two more condemnations, my friend.”

With an ease that belied his slim looks, Patnel slid the table aside with his right hand. His left was raised slightly, and when he snapped it a cold breeze chilled Lauro’s bones. A Frost Strider. Patnel the armory guard was a Frost Strider.

“Well, well,” Lauro sighed, “You’ve figured me out, then, haven’t you? Will you stop me, then?”

“By Sea and Sky I will, if you give me trouble,” Patnel said, raising his chin, “But now-” Suddenly, his head lolled back and he collapsed in a dead faint on the cold floor of the armory.

“Whoops,” said Lauro, rolling his eyes, and walked past the body. What luck it had been to befriend the nymph woman who ran the Raitharch’s kitchens. She might have been spying on him too, but not closely enough to stop him stealing a pinch of her most potent herbs. Patnel would wake in no less than five hours, and his head would throb like a thunderstorm, but he would be otherwise perfectly healthy.
A slight-of-hand trick worthy of a street performer,
the prince thought proudly to himself.
Gribly would be awed. This gullible fool never even suspected me.

Letting the nymph guard lie, Lauro headed down the armory’s rightmost aisle, searching the impressive display of bladed weapons for a sword that would suit his fancy. A spear would be nice, too, but he needed a quick, silent escape from Mythigrad, and such a weapon would be too cumbersome. He must have a sword, and it must be light and quick. The sleek Reethe claymores were nonetheless too heavy and unwieldy, so he passed them by. Scimitars were out of the question, as he had little experience with them, as were the stubby cleaver-like swords held by infantrymen here. He took a short, white-bladed dagger and clipped its sheath to his belt, but he needed something more.