Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts Read Online Free PDF Page B

searched the stacks for a particular manuscript on the history of Bara’cor, snapping his fingers when his eyes fell on its faded brown leather cover. Retrieving it, he settled into a plush chair near a window and began to read.
    Bara’cor, it stated, stood at the southwest corner of the Altan Wastes, straddling Land’s Edge, aptly named for the two thousand foot cliff face separating the upper desert region from the lush, abundant grasslands surrounding the capital city of Haven below. The fortress stood with its back to Land’s Edge protecting the one safe way down, a wide road cut out of the sheer face of the cliff.
    As a result, Bara’cor had found an ever-increasing amount of people traveling through its walls, the pass between the upper and lower regions creating the perfect atmosphere for trade to flourish and grow. The fortress served as the protective nexus for traders from the Wastes and those from the lower, fertile valleys to meet in a neutral place that welcomed all.
    It was dwarven-made, with towers and minarets reaching gracefully into the desert sky. The stone itself was shaped in a manner unlike any known in the land, as if poured and then hardened in place. It was beautiful, and bespoke of a mastery of stonemasonry long since lost.
    Still, the citizens of Bara’cor could not entirely dismiss the obvious intent of the original builders to protect their work of art. Bara’cor held a strong military presence and surrounding its fragile inner city were hundred-foot walls of solid granite, rising out of the desert floor. It stood alone along the cliff’s edge like a great stone fist so only the walls facing the desert were open to possible attack.
    Atop those walls were catapults, standing like silent sentinels. The area in front of the stronghold was mostly sand with a few boulders strewn haphazardly, as if some giant had upended a sack of rocks, none of which were big enough to afford any protection against the deadly barrage of missile fire Bara’cor could bring to bear.
    One of the most astounding facts about the fortress, Silbane read, was the natural lake within its walls. Fed through underground springs, Bara’cor had an unlimited supply of fresh water, a commodity worth more than gold to inhabitants of the Wastes. Silbane sat back for a moment, the last thought repeating in his head.
    Closing the book, he moved out into the main room and settled down near another large window. The afternoon sun shone with its usual springtime intensity. In the distance, he could hear the rumble of the waves crashing onto the surf. He noticed a few of the older apprentices gathering for informal practice on the hill behind the tower, their brown uniforms contrasting with the bright green of the grass.
    The nomads could be after that source of water. Though it did not seem logical, no explanation could be ruled out. But there were easier ways to get water, including trading between the people of the desert and those of the fortresses—a practice well respected and known.
    Also, it failed to answer how the nomads had already destroyed three other fortresses, and now looked to the fourth. Nothing about this fit with the ways of nomadic life, nor with their favored style of warfare, fast-moving and mounted. It gave him a very uneasy feeling.
    Opening the window, Silbane breathed in the cool sea air and watched the initiates gathered on the hill, not without a bit of envy. Simpler times, with simpler pleasures, he remembered fondly. Silbane had been brought here almost eighty years ago, a wide-eyed lad of perhaps nine. He had expected to see all sorts of magical beasts and eldritch incantations of power. Instead, much to his disappointment, his first years exposed him to stacks of books, none of which were magical. Themun and the other teachers had pounded the basics of reading, writing, history, and mathematics into his young mind until finally he passed his entrance examinations, proving he was intelligent enough to