The Flames of Deception - A Horizon of Storms: Book 1 Read Online Free PDF

through a
vast archway carved with ceramic flowers and vines, dotted with
real wildflowers planted in pottery baskets. A plaque carved out of
stone read: ‘The Northern Habitual Quarter.’
    He walked up a cobbled street filled with shops
and a lone inn, the ‘Rusty Bucket’, avoiding a cardsharp outside
its doors who tried to grab his arm and entice him into a game
of Shove
Penny, and
trotted down a thin line of steps into another
street.
    As the sun disappeared beneath the canopy of a
scaffold structure above him, Matthias reached a dead-end, save for
a wooden ladder that reached up to the higher level. He looked up
at the underside of the wooden structure, where trailing ivy and
plant life hung limply. A thin mist of water sailed down on a
breeze from between the boards. With a shrug he grasped the ladder
and hoisted himself up. As he reached the top, the city opened out
in front of him yet again. Atop the platform sat elegant, half
–timber decorated houses, with chunky chimneys and stucco walls
and beautiful gardens. It was a floating island of tranquillity above the
chaos of the courtyard below. The people rose in prosperity like
the city itself; level upon level, with the Palace at the very top.
Climbing the social ladder in Rina could often be more than just a
saying. He stopped a man mid-stride in the street, and asked him
for directions to the city’s guardhouse. To his relief, he was only
a few minutes away.
    Finally, a short while later, after climbing
another ladder to yet another level of the city, Matthias arrived at his
destination: a tall, three-storey building made of sandstone. He
made his way up its large wooden steps, to a set of solid, arched
doors. Two fine cloth tapestries hung to either side with the
King’s coat of arms emblazoned on each: a griffin and a phoenix,
intertwined around a pea-green shield decorated with
horizontally-placed depictions of swords. Above, chiselled into the
large keystone at the crown of the doorway, a motto was engraved in
an ancient script:
    “ Evican Verdani Litani Militia .” Matthias racked his brain
for a translation. It was an old Aralian dialect: ‘Into the
military, our lives we trust,’ if he wasn’t mistaken. Which
he might have been? It was hard enough learning the current languages, let
alone the ancient ones of civilisations long since passed. There
was only so much room in his head.
    He stood and stared at the building a moment
longer, and in his heart he felt a great weight of uncertainty fall
upon him. He had kept such feelings at bay so far on his journey,
but now he had finally arrived, the reality of his situation hit
him. There should have been another way, a way that didn’t involve so much subterfuge. Perhaps Jadin
had been right about his people. But equally, perhaps the man was
wrong about him. Was he a good man? The term had been diluted to a point he
couldn’t even tell himself any longer. He shook his head. The only
other way didn’t bear thinking about. If he didn’t do this, then the girl’s life would be over, one
way or another.
    He
took a deep breath and grasped the golden door handles. “Right
then, now comes the hard part!” He pushed the handles down; the
latch opened slipping from its housing, and shifting his weight, he
thrust the heavy doors inward and made his way inside.

 
The
Guardhouse
112th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E.
(New Era)
     
    The
room was dark to Matthias’s eyes after being in the bright
sunlight, and it took a while for his vision to adjust to the
shadowy recesses of the room. When the green spots had finished
dancing in front of his eyes, he focussed on a chipped, splintered
table that stood in front of him, a layer of varnish peeling off
from its topside. A man clad in military uniform sat at one of the
five chairs set at regular intervals around the oblong surface. He
was well built and stocky, with broad shoulders and a square
chiselled jaw, a prominent nose and dark, slightly curly hair that
covered