Soulbreaker Read Online Free PDF Page B

melding to lighten their footsteps. Or already had people down here. The only way the militia could have gotten so close without us receiving more of a warning would be through the sewers.”
    Tomas remained silent for a moment before he nodded. They slipped into the deeper blackness of an intersection. Time slowed to a crawl. Other than their breathing, the only noises were incessant drips, an occasional splash from one of the sewer’s denizens, and the squeaks and scurrying feet of rodents. The putrid muck beneath the two men was alive with squirming forms.
    A man-shaped shadow detached from the walls two intersections back. Short, no more than five feet. Tomas’ hand tightened on Thar’s coat. The shape melted into the darkness. A similar form repeated the process, this one taller by at least two heads.
    “Impossible, I-I can’t see their souls,” Tomas muttered, voice tremulous, words barely audible.
    Thar understood Tomas’ fear. The guild leader was an experienced melder, strong too, one of the most adept at soul magic among the Red Beggars. Seeing the nimbus of a living creature’s soul was second nature to one such as he. All living things had a soul, the energy lingering even after death.
    “Must be a trick,” Thar said reassuringly. “They’re Farlanders, it’s possible that they’re more adept in the second cycle than we.” He wished he could take back that last bit even as the words left his mouth.
    “ Look at them,” Tomas implored. “That’s not some expanded use of koren to hide their souls. If it were I’d see through it.” His voice was soft, an awed and yet fearful whisper. “It’s … it’s as if they have no souls. The stories must be true, about some of them being soulless, that they’re trapped between living and dead.”
    “Foolishness. It’s a meld of some sort, one we don’t know. Regardless, you must slip off to the Undertow and warn the others of this new ploy. I’ll deal with these two.”
    “Are you certain? These Farlanders slaughtered Jemare’s Blades as one might a chicken.”
    “Yes, I am. Go. Now.”
    “I have an ill feeling about this,” Tomas said.
    In truth, Thar had an ill feeling too, but unlike most people he was drawn to the sense of impending doom. The few times he experienced the sensation were the ones he cherished most, the ones that gave him life. “Just go. Trust me.” Thar felt Tomas squeeze his arm before the man slipped around the corner.
    At the intersection, the Farlanders edged closer, both dressed in pale leather. The first was a squat, square man, bald, clean-shaven. His partner was the opposite, blond hair to his shoulders, a wispy mustache, and a forehead too flat to have occurred naturally. Flathead carried a firestick, the weapon’s metal barrel aimed down the tunnel. Their nimbuses thickened, stark white in the blackness.
    Small bursts, like miniature lightning bolts, flickered through Thar. The skin under his skin shifted, growing, elongating to the response of a threat. He smiled. He’d spent much of his early life not experiencing such excitement. As a Blade he’d been undefeatable, unrivaled in his prowess with soul magic until one of Jemare’s servants delivered a contract for Elysse’s head. He met her that same day. He recalled her confidence before they fought, so much like his own. Life had changed since. One challenge after the next presented itself, each with enough skill to test him, sometimes to best him. These Farlanders were two such.
    Thar released his hold on koren , knowing the men had seen through the veil he created with it by stopping his soul energy. He stepped into the middle of the passage, ignoring the wetness soaking into his boots.
    The two Farlanders halted. Flathead snapped the firestick up to his face and sighted down the long metal portion as if it were a bow. He had one arm stretched out, slightly bent, hand cupping the weapon, the other hand near his cheek. Barrel-gut produced a shield the same