Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains Read Online Free PDF Page A

tickling the hairs on his neck. He
expected it to smell of cheap tobacco and pungent booze, but found
it sweet instead…like strawberries.
    “What brings you here?” She teased a finger
along his collar and batted her long eyelashes.
    “Nothing, listen, madam, I’m more than all
set,” he stated, lifting his arm to pull her off, but as he did so
the bottle of Coronation Wine went tumbling free. The thud of it
hitting the floor was lost in the wash of noise thrumming around
them, yet both were aware of its fall. Simultaneously Drish and the
golden-haired tavern trollop bent down to retrieve it, but the
smaller woman was quicker. In a flash of frills and lace, she’d
folded herself in half and snatched up the bottle within her dainty
hands.
    “What’s this,” she teased, pulling the
bottle close to the revealing cleave of her bosom.
    “Just a bottle of wine, miss,” he said,
trying not to look. “Now if you’d be so kind as to as to give it
back.”
    But she just teased him a bit more, holding
it out for him to take, and then quickly pulling it away when he
reached out. The game elicited a playful giggle from the woman.
Drish, however, did not find it amusing in the least, and after the
third failed attempt felt his temper flare to the point of
full-blown rage.
    “Oh, don’t be so sour,” the irritating girl
eventually relented with a smirk, but before she was to hand it
back, she turned the bottle over to have a look. “What’s the big
deal about this any…” her voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed
over the bottle’s label, and then her girlish demeanor washed away
in an instant. “Follow me,” she ordered sternly, leaving little
room for argument, and before Drish could get a word in edgewise,
she began to walk off with the bottle still in her possession.
    Great, now what, thought Drish, does she think I stole it from the bar? He was tempted to
just let her walk off and be done with it. After all, not more than
an hour ago he was prepared to drink it out of spite, and now
having his father’s prized possession guzzled down by some cheap
harlot for a single night of intoxication seemed similarly fitting.
But then she turned, and urged him to join her. Something in the
young woman’s saffron-colored eyes said it all, and suddenly there
was something beautiful and strong in her features, as though the
makeup was but a mask, and it was enough for him to follow.
    The woman took him on a spirited path, deep
into the tavern’s revelry, through rooms of different décor and
different temperament. In the beginning they were designed simply
for raucous drinking, and then for dancing; until the moods turned
somber and the rooms held games of billiards and darts. After that
they passed through semi-private salons, rooms meant for
philosophical discussions, but an eerily calm held sway. The people
sat in silence and watched as Drish passed; a dark interest
haunting their shadowy eyes, until finally the bar trollop ended
her journey at the threshold to a red door set in rock. They had to
be in the very foundations of the building at that point…that is,
if they were still in the same building.
    “Stay right here,” said the girl softly,
“And don’t move. For your own safety. Do. Not. Move.” Her doleful
eyes glanced behind Drish, and when he turned, it was to find four
grim-faced brutes, standing with thick arms folded over broad
chests, and blocking the way back.
    “No,” he said lamentably, “I don’t think I
will…”
    With the girl gone, the chamber took on a
sinister feel and Drish swallowed hard. The men standing around him
said nothing; their threatening eyes never wavering; their stern
demeanors never relaxing; the muscles on their arms remaining
coiled in anticipation; but in anticipation of what, Drish Larken
couldn’t be certain. Only the tension remained definitive, filling
the room until it turned so thick as to become suffocating, and the
noble had just about lost his nerves to stand