Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series)
Read Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series) Online
Authors: Ben Galley
“This book is a work of fiction, but some works of fiction contain perhaps more truth than first intended, and therein lies the magic.”
Copyright © Ben Galley 2013
The right of Ben Galley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used, edited, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), or reproduced in any manner without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the Publisher’s permission.
Permission can be obtained through www.bengalley.com.
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
DS2EB1:
ISBN: 978-0-9567700-9-7
eBook Edition – Kindle
Published by
BenGalley.com
Cover Design by Mikael Westman
Original Illustration by Ben Galley
Professional Dreaming by Ben Galley
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Just head to
www.bengalley.com/BenGalley.com/Books
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Ben Galley is a young indie author and purveyor of lies. Harbouring a near-fanatical love of writing and fantasy, Ben has been scribbling tall tales ever since he was first trusted with a pencil. When he’s not busy day-dreaming on park benches or hunting down dragons, he runs the self-publishing advice site Shelf Help, zealously aiding other authors achieve their dream of publishing.
For more about Ben, Shelf Help, or for more about Emaneska, visit:
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The names below are those of the downright glorious group of people who helped edit my book. These are the esteemed Beta Readers of Dead Stars Parts One and Two, and each and every one of them is a star in their own right.
Thank you very much for all your help. Great work. Neato gang.
(in no particular order)
Nancy Clark
Kevin Richard
Jason Bennett
Sarah Clark
Paul Nelson
Sam Leeves
Marj Crockett
Genevieve Taylor
Luke James Wardle
Cathy Villars
Sheila Billings
and Helen McKenna
Part Two
By Ben Galley
Did you like Dead Stars Part Two?
Of Grimsayers
“It is foolhardy to believe that we humans are the only wielders of good and evil in this world.”
Words from the scholar Lasti, scribe to the Arkmage Los.
‘W
ar.’ The word was a fleck of spit on sun-warmed stone. A hot lump in the throat of its utterer. A dark scowl in the eyes of the nearby. Durnus let its hallway echoes die like a thief sent to the city noose. Alone and unwanted. Unloved.
‘Is it?’ asked Tyrfing, between the squeaking of his boots.
‘Of course it is!’ Durnus snapped back at him.
‘Then what a strange war it is,’ muttered Farden. The three fell silent. Silent as graves once again, silent save for the pacing of Tyrfing. He strode in impatient circles and tight, angry figures-of-eight. His armoured hands were clasped firmly behind his back while his face tried its hardest to imitate thunder. He would occasionally go to the window, press his nose up against it, and scowl at the city and its beyond. Smoke rose in three pillars from the distant hillside. Black, oily smoke, tinged with the sulphurous yellow of a dead daemon and the broken Spire. Word had it that a crowd had gathered to marvel at the creature. Vultures of curiosity, the lot of them. If this was war, then they were the only three men who knew it.
Durnus, still dirt-clad from the field and the fight, slouched on the wooden bench, sagging with more than just the simple tiredness of battle. His patience was stretched like cheap silk over a brothel bed, and getting thinner by the minute. Keeping his eyes screwed shut, he listened to the frantic sounds from behind the door across the hallway. Sounds of vials clinking, hurried whispering, and an Undermage fretting, yelling, snarling.
For once, Farden was the only smidgeon of calm the three could lay claim to. He lay a short distance away, sprawled on the floor with his hands firmly clamped to each side of his throbbing head. His feet would occasionally kick out, suddenly eager to stand up and get moving, only to remember the reason why they lingered.
For the mage, the world was suddenly very simple. Upside-down and shaken to shit, but simple nonetheless. Maybe that was why. He was used to that view.
It was the first time in decades he had experienced such decisive clarity. The mist of his nevermar withdrawal momentarily lifted, his was an unflinching clarity realised in beautiful simplicity. Farden saw his tasks like stepping stones, cast out before him. He spoke them aloud, whispered in little breaths.
Save Elessi. Beat the truth about his vambraces out of Loki. Hunt his daughter down. End her.
Simple. Sort of. No doubt there would be other little tasks here and there. No doubt it wouldn’t be easy as four little breaths, but they would come at their leisure. Farden had never been so set on anything in his life. It was almost like a medicine to him. He lay on the floor and let the clarity heal him.
Tyrfing went to the window again and stared down at the streets. Crowds were gathering outside the Arkathedral doors. Crowds bearing banners and painted signs. Crowds headed by people in robes and home-made uniforms. ‘The vultures are circling again,’ he muttered.
‘Speaking of vultures…’ Durnus growled.
The sounds of vehement, striding shoes were quickly approaching. Ten, maybe a dozen of them. Farden begrudgingly got to his feet and stood with the others. They were met with the sight of Malvus and ten of his finest council sycophants rounding the corner, marching towards them as if they were playing soldiers. Malvus had his fists clenched and firmly clamped to his side. His clothes were even grander and smarter than usual, regal, with a dab of something military about them. Shrewdly chosen. His face was the perfect picture of political indignity, a lovely shade of russet purple. ‘There you are! What in the name of the golden scales is going on?!’
Durnus took slow steps to meet him. His patience was now wearing dangerously thin, frayed and parting ways. His gentle pace couldn’t have been more at odds with the storm that burned inside him. Malvus, of course, hurtled on, skidding to a stop in front of Durnus, indignant spittle flying from his lips.
‘We demand an explanation for this chaos! There are riots springing up all over Krauslung, riots of fear and panic. People are petrified that those
things
will return at any time! Every eye is on the sky. It is pandemonium out there, and all you’re doing is sitting here? What sort of game are you playing here, Durnus? Tyrfing?! You have my word,
mages
, that you will not spend another day on those thrones of…’
‘Shut up, Malvus!’ Durnus bellowed, inches from Barkhart’s face. Malvus shuffled backwards, plainly taken aback. Durnus wished he could see the man’s face. ‘You dare to call this a
game
? Thanks to our efforts, and those of our brave army, this city has been spared a foul fate. Spared from enemies so dire they make you look like an irritating wasp. And where were you, Malvus? Busy counting your coinpurses no doubt, or busy scheming with the rest of your Copse? Yes, we know of your Marble brethren. How dare you accuse us of toying with this city’s fate, when not two hours ago we were fighting hard with our bare hands and spells to preserve it.’
Malvus had recovered some of his confidence. He looked to his supporters. They nodded eagerly, heads bobbing, urging him on. ‘My fellow Councils,’ he began, turning back, ‘tell me that most of the army was deployed this very morning,
before
those things arrived. One can only assume that you must have known about them, hmm? Yet again you try to keep us in the dark, and we have to pay the price for your secrets! Krauslung and I demand an explanation!’
‘Krauslung will get its explanation, Malvus, but not before we have seen to our fallen, our Elessi. You can wait, like the rest,’ Durnus hissed.
Malvus looked confused, and even more indignant, if that were possible. ‘Elessi? The woman married off to your lap dog? Ah, so that’s what you’re doing here. You would choose to fret over a fat chambermaid instead of tending to the angry voices of your city. Typical!’
Further down the hallway, a door quietly clicked shut. There was a sharp intake of breath from the gang of councillors. Durnus shook his head, and backed away, a smile twisting his grey lips. ‘Poor choice of words, for once,’ he sighed.