The Hollow: At The Edge Read Online Free PDF Page B

a lump of fish from her bowl and threw it to the ground,
where a large dog, Ripper or Vost, Serrel didn’t know which,
devoured it.
    “ Magic ,” she
said derisively. “ Weaving the ether . Will magic make you
invisible? Take away your scent? Make your footsteps as light as a
shadow?”
    Serrel thought about
that. “Well... yes.”
    “Until your magic runs
out,” Caellix said. “And you get that thing mages complain about.
The hole.”
    “The Hollow.”
    “That. When you deplete
yourself so badly you can’t even find the will to keep breathing.
Where will you be then?”
    “I’ve dragged myself
out of the Hollow before-”
    “Unless someone does
cut off your head, before you can. My point, Fresh Meat, is that
you can’t rely on magic. It is fleeting. Untouchable, like smoke.
It will only take you so far. If you want to survive in the
Faelands, you need to depend on yourself, and only on yourself. Not this .” She stretched her leg under the table and bumped his
staff with her foot. “You can’t rely on that thing forever.
Otherwise you end up like that fool Morton, who sat in the hold the
entire time we were attacked. Or Barnaby.”
    She stood up. “But for
your first fight, you didn’t do bad,” she said again. “I’ve seen
bigger men turn and run for far less than what we went through
today.”
    “I don’t run,
Sergeant,” Serrel said with feeling. “Not anymore. And anyway,
where exactly would I run? I’m in the middle of the bloody Dividing
Sea.”
    “Some men, they would
have run regardless.” Unexpectedly, she leaned across the table and
dumped the remaining contents of her bowl into his own. “Double
ration,” she said. “Eat up. You’re going to need your
strength.”
    With that she left,
leaving Serrel sitting by himself to wallow in misery.
    “I think she’s starting
to warm to you,” said Brant brightly.
    Serrel ate a mouthful
of now cold stew, but despite the exertions of the day, he just
wasn’t hungry. He made to leave, but found a large dog sitting on
the floor next to him. It stared at him expectantly.
    “You aren’t allowed to
eat me,” he told it. “But if you’re planning to try anyway, you’re
going to have to get in line.”
    The dog yawned, then
continued to stare.
    Serrel sighed, and put
his bowl on the floor. The dog attacked it enthusiastically as he
walked back to his hammock.
    Morton was again
sitting cross legged on his chest next to Serrel’s spot in the
hold. Serrel tried to think of a time he’d seen the man anywhere
else in the ship, and came up blank. He wondered how long he had
been sitting there in that position.
    “Morton?” he asked.
    “Mmm?” Morton didn’t
bother to open his eyes.
    “Have you been here all
this time?”
    “I’ve been here. I’ve
been there. Why? Did I miss something?”
    “Miss something? Well,
not much. We were only attacked by krakens.”
    “Krakens? Indeed. That
must have been interesting. I trust if I was needed, someone would
have asked for me.”
    Serrel stared at him.
He had the overwhelming urge to hit him, repeatedly. Perhaps Morton
sensed this, because he finally opened his eyes, and looked at
Serrel.
    “Is there something you
want, Mister Hawthorne?”
    “Caster Hawthorne,”
Serrel told him. “I am in the Legion.”
    “Oh yes?” A glint of
amusement lit Morton’s face. “Bronze coin around your neck like a
good little tin soldier? And there I was thinking you were a real
mage.”
    The urge to hit him
wasn’t going away.
    “I am a real mage,”
said Serrel angrily.
    Morton snorted in
disgust. “You are just another tool of the Empire. Using the ether
to wage war. To set things on fire and scare the small and
unimportant into submission. You are to a mage as a pebble is to a
mountain, Hawthorne. Just a small and insignificant cast off.” He
closed his eyes and resumed his meditation.
    “So what does that make
you?” Serrel pressed. “Just an Elixir addict who can’t even