Return of the Crimson Guard Read Online Free PDF Page A

the spiral of Wind into the blade. Incredibly, the tempered iron melted like wax under Smoky's firm pressure. The sword's grip heated in Kyle's hand.
Rain hissed, misting from the blade. The mage released him. What had that been all about? What of Wind? What was it his father used to say … ‘All are at the mercy of the wind’?
Kyle looked up to see Smoky, impatient, wave him ahead.

The rooms hollowed out of solid basalt were empty. Kyle kicked aside rotting leaves and the remains of crumbled wood furniture. He felt disappointment but also, ashamedly, relief as well. He felt exposed, helpless. What could he do against this warlock? His stomach was a tight acid knot and his limbs shook with uncoiled tension.
     
Ahead, the wind moaning and a mist of rain betrayed an opening through to the outside. He entered a three-walled room facing out over the edge of the Spur. The lashing wind yanked at him and he steadied himself in the portal. The room held a large wood and rope cage slung beneath a timber boom that appeared able to be swung out over the gulf. Rope led up from the cage to a recess in the roof then descended again at the room's rear where it circled a fat winch barrel as tall as a man.
Smoky peered in over Kyle's shoulder. He patted his back. Our way down.’
‘Not in this wind,’ grumbled one of the men behind Smoky. ‘We'll be smashed to pieces.’
Scowling, Smoky turned on the Guardsman – perhaps the only one in the company shorter than him. ‘Always with a complaint, hey, Junior?’
A concussion shook the stone beneath their feet, cutting off any further talk. Distant muted reports of rock cracking made Kyle's teeth ache. Smoky recovered his balance, cackled. ‘Ol’ Grey's fished him out!’
A second bone-rattling explosion kicked at the rock. Kyle swore he felt the entire Spur sway. He steadied himself. The hemp and wood cage rocked, creaking and thumping in its housings. Smoky's grin fell and he wiped water from his face. ‘I think.’
‘Let's go back,’ suggested another Guardsman, one Kyle couldn't name. He'd used the company's native tongue, Talian. ‘The Brethren are worried.’
Pulling at his sodden robes, Smoky grunted his assent. Kyle eyed this unknown Guardsman; brethren, the man had said. He'd heard the word used before. Something to do with the elite of the Guard, the originals, the Avowed. Or perhaps another word for them, used only among themselves? Kyle continued to study the fellow sidelong: battered scale hauberk, a large shield at his back, sheathedlongsword. He could very well be of the Avowed himself – they wore no torcs or rank insignias. You couldn't tell them from any other Guardsman. Stoop had explained it was deliberate: fear, the old fellow had said. No one knows who they're facing. Makes ‘em think twice, that does.

When they returned to the inner chambers, Guardsmen filled the rooms. It appeared to be a pre-arranged rallying point. Through the arched gaps between stone pillars Kyle watched the mercenaries converging on the complex of rooms. Men slipped, fumbling on the rain-slick polished stone. He turned to the short mercenary beside him. ‘What's going on, Junior?’
     
Beneath the lip of his sodden cloth-wrapped helmet, the man's eyes flicked to Kyle, wide with outrage. ‘The name's not Junior,’ he forced through clenched teeth.
Kyle cursed his stupidity and these odd foreign names. ‘Sorry. Smoky called you that.’
‘Smoky can call anyone whatever he damned well pleases. You better show more respect…’
‘Sorry, I—’
Someone yanked on Kyle's hauberk; he spun to find Stoop. The old sapper flashed him a wink, said, ‘Let's not bother friend Boll here with our questions. He's not the helpful type.’
Boll's lips stretched even tighter into a straight hound's smile. Inclining his helmet to Stoop, he pushed himself from the wall and edged his way through the crowd of Guardsmen.
‘What's going on?’ Kyle whispered.
‘Not too sure right now,’ the old