Path of the Warrior Read Online Free PDF

brought a flush of happiness to Korlandril and a concomitant throb from his waystone, and he accepted the plaudits of his peers with a gracious bow.
    “If my hands have created wonders, it is because others have opened my eyes to see them,” he said. “Please excuse me. I must attend to my other guests. I am sure we will have many cycles to further discuss my work.”
    Receiving smiles of assent, Korlandril sought out Aradryan and Thirianna. They were stood side-by-side in a knot of eldar admiring the statue from a short distance away, the majestic Isha towering above them.
    “She is so serene,” Thirianna was saying. “Such calm and beauty.”
    Aradryan made a small gesture of dissent and Korlandril stopped, staying a little distance away from the pair to listen to what they said.
    “It is self-referential,” Aradryan explained and at his words the serpent within Korlandril coiled around his heart and gripped it tight. “It is a work of remarkable skill and delicacy, certainly. Yet I find it somewhat… staid. It adds nothing to my experience of the myth, merely represents physically something that is felt. It is a metaphor in its most direct form. Beautiful, but merely reflecting back upon its maker rather than a wider truth.”
    “But is not that the point of art, to create representations for those thoughts, memories and emotions that cannot be conveyed directly?”
    “Perhaps I am being unfair,” said Aradryan. “Out in the stars, I have seen such wondrous creations of nature that the artifices of mortals seem petty, even those that explore such momentous themes such as this.”
    “Staid?” snapped Korlandril, stepping forward. “Self-referential?”
    Thirianna looked in horror at Korlandril’s appearance, but Aradryan seemed unperturbed.
    “My words were not intended to cause offence, Korlandril,” he said, offering a placating palm. “They are but my opinion, and an ill-educated one at that. Perhaps you find my sentimentality gauche.”
    In the face of such honesty and self-deprecation, Korlandril’s anger wavered. A rare moment of humility fluttered in his breast, but then the serpent tightened its coils and the sensation disappeared.
    “You are right to think your opinion ill-informed,” said Korlandril, his words as venomous as the snake laying siege to his heart. “While you gazed naively at glittering stars and swirling nebulae, I studied the works of Aethyril and Ildrintharir, learnt the disciplines of ghost stone weaving and inorganic symbiosis. If you have not the wit to extract the meaning from that which I have presented to you, perhaps you should consider your words more carefully.”
    “And if you have not the skill to convey your meaning from your work, perhaps you need to continue studying,” Aradryan snarled back. “It is not from the past masters that you should learn your art, but from the heavens and your heart. Your technique is flawless, but your message is parochial. How many statues of Isha might I see if I travelled across the craftworld? A dozen? More? How many more statues of Isha exist on other craftworlds? You have taken nothing from the Path save the ability to indulge yourself in this spectacle. You have learnt nothing of yourself, of the darkness and the light that battles within you. There is intellect alone in your work, and nothing of yourself. It might be that you should expand your terms of reference.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “Get away from this place, from Alaitoc,” Aradryan said patiently, his anger dissipated by his outburst. Now he was the picture of sincerity, his hand half-reaching towards Korlandril. “Why stifle your art by seeking inspiration only from the halls and domes you have seen since childhood? Rather than trying to look upon old sights with fresh eyes, why not turn your old eyes upon fresh sights?”
    Korlandril wanted to argue, to snatch words from the air that would mock Aradryan’s opinion, but just as the serpent within