Descent of Angels Read Online Free PDF

it a name, he supposed he would have called it ‘conscience’.
    Whatever the cause, the sensation of the phantom wound in his palm would stay with him for the rest of his life.
    In time, he would almost become used to it.
    Z AHARIEL AND N EMIEL had grown up together.
    Barely a few weeks separated them in age, and they were related by blood. Though distant cousins, born to different branches of the same extended family of the nobility, their features were so alike they could be mistaken for brothers. They shared the characteristically lean faces and aquiline profile of their ancestors, but the bond they shared went far deeper than any accidental similarity of their features.
    According to the monastic traditions of the Order, all the knights of the fellowship were counted as brothers to each other. For Zahariel and Nemiel though, the fact of their brotherhood went beyond any such simple platitudes. They had each thought of the other as a brother long before they had joined the Order as supplicants. In the years since, the bond between them had been tested countless times and proven true. They had come to rely on each other in a thousand small ways, even as their friendly rivalry spurred them on to greater heights.
    It was natural that there was an element of competitiveness, of sibling rivalry, in the relationship between them. From the earliest days of their childhood, they had tried to outdo the other in every way possible. In any contest, they had each striven to be the victor. They each wanted to be the fastest runner, the strongest swimmer, the most accurate shot, the best rider, the most skilled swordsman: the exact nature of the test did not matter so long as one of them could beat the other.
    Their masters in the Order had recognised the competition between them early on and had actively encouraged it. Separately, they might have been counted as average candidates for knighthood. Together, driven on by their mutual rivalry, they had become more impressive prospects.
    Their masters said it quietly, for it was not the way on Caliban to give unnecessary praise, but Zahariel and Nemiel were both expected to do well and to rise far in the Order.
    As the elder of the two, even if it was only by a matter of weeks, their competition was perhaps harder on Nemiel than it was on Zahariel. Sometimes, their rivalry felt like a race he could not win. Every time Nemiel thought he had finally beaten his rival, Zahariel would quickly prove him wrong by equalling and exceeding his achievements.
    At some level, Zahariel recognised the important role his brother played in his triumphs. Without Nemiel to measure himself against, to strive to overcome, he might never have been granted entrance into the Order. He might never have become a knight. Accordingly, he could never begrudge his brother’s triumphs. If anything, he celebrated them as loudly as he did his own.
    For Nemiel, however, it was different. In time, despairing of ever outdistancing his brother, he began to harbour secret reservations about Zahariel’s achievements. Despite his best efforts to control his thoughts, Nemiel found there was a small voice within him that wished Zahariel would not be too successful.
    Not that he ever wished harm or failure on his brother, but simply that Zahariel’s triumphs would always be more limited in magnitude than his own. Perhaps it was childish, but the competition between them had defined their lives for so long that Nemiel found it difficult to outgrow it.
    In many ways, his relationship with Zahariel would always be as much about rivalry as it was about brotherhood.
    It was the nature of their lives.
    In times to come, it would decide their fate.
    ‘I F THAT ’ S THE best you’ve got,’ taunted Nemiel, dancing away from Zahariel’s sword thrust, ‘you’d best give up now.’
    Zahariel stepped in close, bringing his training blade close to his body and slamming his shoulder against his cousin’s chest.
    Nemiel was braced for