Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign (Worlds of the Crystal Moon, Book 1) (31 page)

Sam looked at his upper body, which he had not bothered covering with a shirt. Smiling, he walked over to BJ and patted the trainer on the back. “I suppose that’s the sign of a good teacher. BJ isn’t very political with his verbal criticisms, but he’ll break through this hard head of mine … not literally, I hope. Swordplay is new to me, but I swear I’ll get it.”

BJ grunted, “Shut up! There are no politics in battle, only men who fight, live or die. Take a seat on the bed before I knock you down. I don’t have all Peak to stitch you up.” The teacher pulled a needle made of bone and some thread out of his bag.

Sam removed the items from BJ’s hands. “I already know how to do this, but I could use some of that mud you told me about. I’ll be ready in the morning.”

BJ tossed Sam the mud and then threw his bag over his shoulder. “See you bright and early then. I’m going to troblet you thoroughly in the morning. Sleep on that.” He left the room.

Sam frowned, cleaned his wound and grunted during each pass the needle made as it pierced his skin. Once finished, he applied the mud and wrapped his leg with clean bandages before he turned his attention back to the wolf. “Mosley, what happened to her? How long will she sleep?”

Mosley stood and headed for the door. “I’ll return soon,” he said as he left the room without answering Sam’s question.

Stunned by the wolf’s demeanor, Sam moved gingerly across the room to pour himself a glass of water as Helga excused herself to return to her school.

Sam pulled a chair to the window and sat down after blowing out the lamp. In the darkness, he stared at the flickering torches lighting the streets below for a short series of moments before he lowered his head into the palms of his hands. The emotions of his new life overwhelmed him. He was bruised, battered and beaten, physically and emotionally. Try as he might, he was unable to hold back the tears.

How could he possibly put on a strong face for Shalee in the morning? He missed his old life. He was practically a king there. But, more than that, he missed his family, no matter how irritating his father was.

It crossed his mind to pray for strength, but his god was said to no longer exist, and that made the notion of prayer pointless. He was now a small fish in an enraged sea called Grayham, and this sea was filled with unknown enemies that would be lining up in front of him.

More than one tear stained the floor before Sam drifted off to sleep with his head still in his hands.

BASSORINE
is still looking for Lasidious, and his anger continues to build.

THE GOD OF
MISCHIEF
is watching part of his overall plan fall into place. Celestria and Lasidious have finished some last-moment plotting inside their home. Both gods will head out to put these plans in motion.

HELGA
stopped at the healers’ vestry. She instructed them to check on Shalee in the morning. She needs to clean up the mess the young sorceress made during training. The explosion left many of the mattresses and walls charred.

THE OTHER GODS
are in the Hall of Judgment, home of the Book of Immortality, located on the hidden god world called Ancients Sovereign. They are speaking with the Book about their options. They want Lasidious to come to a meeting and put an end to Bassorine’s annoying rant. Bassorine’s anger has become taxing, and their patience with Lasidious is running thin. However, the Book can only remind them that Lasidious has free will, and he may show up whenever he pleases.

Thank you for reading this edition of the Grayham Inquirer

CHAPTER 12

Here Kitty, Kitty

HOURS BEFORE SAM’S TEARS flowed, George awoke on the bank of the Cripple River. He jumped up when the alarm on his Rolex went off and once again hurried toward his destination. His muscles were tight, and every joint ached, but he pressed on, wanting to arrive before nightfall, or at least shortly thereafter.

To the northeast, a mountain range extended as far as he could see. George looked at his map. The mountains started near the Pool of Sorrow. He was certain he was getting close, and his excitement was building. One more look at his route showed the Pass of Tears to be east of the pool, and it was this pass that would lead him to the Cave of Sorrow.

As he worked his way north, George sensed something was wrong. He felt he was being watched, or worse, followed. With each casual glance toward the edge of the forest, he saw nothing. Yet something inside him knew he was being stalked. He could feel it.

He increased his pace.
Just focus on getting to the pool
, he thought, reminding himself of his goal to find the supposed map and the staff.
Just focus.

Jason had said the pool was where he would find the tree with the boulder under it. Beneath the boulder would be the map—if there really was one—and on it, the location of the staff inside the cave.

Try as he might to focus on the journey and the prize that awaited, he could still feel the presence of something lingering in the forest. It was keeping pace with him, and worse, it remained hidden in the shadows and out of sight.

Don’t look, dumb ass,
he thought
. You can’t give whatever it is the impression that you know it’s there.

When George finally reached his destination, he discovered what everyone called a pool was, in reality, a huge lake—one so wide he could not see the other side. But the size had been reduced to something far smaller in his mind because of its name.

Under normal circumstances, George would have taken the moments necessary to enjoy the scenery, but instead, he had to figure out how to deal with his Peeping Tom. He could sense whomever—or whatever—was still watching. The feeling was unnerving. He knew, or at least he felt he knew, it would not be long before something would happen. He did not know why, but the alarm in his head was screaming he was in danger, and he had to fight to keep his wits.

Studying the area where the lake and river joined, he noticed a line of massive rocks that created a path that crossed the outlet. The stones spanning the distance could not have been positioned more perfectly, even if they had been placed by a set of giant hands.

Calculating the distance to be about 150 feet or more from start to finish, he made his way to the first stone of the crossing. As he did, he reached around and pulled his pack off his back.

Climbing to the top of the first boulder, George studied its large, flattened surface. The rock was easily more than 18 feet long and half as wide. After observing the torrent water that passed between the first and second stones, he knelt.

From the shadows of the forest, two yellowish-brown eyes tracked every movement the human made. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the moment for the beast to make his move was approaching. Beneath his fur, powerful muscles rippled, anticipating the satisfaction of closing the distance between his kill and his place of hiding.