The Demigod Proving Read Online Free PDF

of granite stone jutting out in the midst of firs and spruces and pines. How many times had he wished to scale those canyon walls, to see the world beyond? A hundred? A thousand? A dozen times everyday ever since he could conceptualize it?
    Wester stopped as they entered the amphitheater, but Wrend continued on, to the first row of benches so he could sit down. Teirn joined him, and they sat panting together, looking back at Wester. He stood just a dozen feet away, near the altar at the foot of the full-size statue of Athanaric.  
    “What was that all about?” Teirn said.
    Wrend shook his head, still barely able to get the wagon out of his head. He couldn’t fathom what he’d seen—the Master’s own children trying to kill him. It had never even occurred to him that the Master could die, though it made sense. There had been other gods in the past—the Master’s siblings, at the least. The Master had killed them to end their tyranny. That meant the Master could die.
    The thought chilled Wrend.
    Wester, not even winded from the run, placed one hand on his hip and the other on the metal pommel of his sacrificial knife, belted at his side. His gaze switched between Wrend and Teirn, as if evaluating them. He looked back the way they’d come through the woods, then up at the statue of Athanaric, and spoke with caution.
    “The world is . . . different than you think.”
    “What do you mean?” Teirn said, echoing Wrend’s thought.
    Wester smiled bitterly. “You’ve lived your lives like all of us do at first: sheltered here in the Seraglio, learning only what the Master wants you to know, living as obediently as you can, so that you’re not deemed a fruitless bough, and pruned.”
    Gooseflesh made the hair on Wrend’s arms stand. He’d never heard such blasphemy.
    Wester continued. “You don’t know any other way. You don’t know any better. But the world is not as you think it is.”
    Just hearing the seditious words made Wrend want to take a bath. He gripped the hilt of his knife; he hadn’t sheathed it back in the courtyard. The blue metal glinted eagerly.
    “That sounds a lot like blasphemy,” he said.
    “More like the first ray of truth shed onto your lives.”
    “You’re one of them,” Teirn said. “Aren’t you? You should have been fighting the Master back there. You’re one of them.”
    He stood, drew his own sacrificial knife, and assumed a defensive stance. Wrend followed his brother’s example, standing and tightening the muscles of his legs and arms, crouching just a bit. He and Teirn had trained together. They could defend themselves against a normal man.
    But normal men did not use Ichor, as Wester surely did.
    Wester ignored their daggers, and stared at them with intense eyes as he stepped closer.
    “You two are unique. You—of all the demigods—can effect the most change.”
    “We serve the Master,” Teirn said. “We want nothing to do with you.”
    “Other,” Wrend said, “than to subdue you for the Master’s sake.”
    He lunged, slashing at Wester’s stomach. Teirn followed, only an instant behind.
    With an amused expression, Wester jumped aside of the blow and slapped Wrend’s wrist, knocking the dagger down. It clattered on the stone as Wester shoved Wrend. He stumbled back and fell on his rear.
    Wester dodged Teirn’s slice and grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the dagger. He twisted it as if to make Teirn drop the weapon, but surprise flitted across his face as if Teirn resisted with unexpected strength. With a shout, Teirn pulled his hand away and didn’t wait even a moment to lunge with his blade again. Wrend had never seen him move so fast. Not in all of the times they’d sparred in practice.
    Wrend began to scramble to his feet.
    Wester stepped aside of the blow, leaving Teirn with his arm extended and his body twisted. Wester darted behind Teirn and grabbed the hand that held the knife. With his other hand, he shoved Teirn backward, even as he stuck a