The Shield of Weeping Ghosts Read Online Free PDF

with her to inspect the stone, eliciting a frustrated sigh from Syrolf. Thaena seemed not to hear the warrior, but Duras glowered at him as Bastun moved to accompany the ethran.
    He noted that the stone did indeed bear a stronger marking of ash over the original sigil and he studied the odd symbol from several angles trying to discern its meaning. Duras approached from behind to look as well, but after a moment he returned his gaze to the end of the street.
    “There’s some sort of clearing up ahead,” he remarked to Thaena, squinting through the fog.
    “Yes,” Bastun said, not looking up from the obelisk. “If memory serves, it should be an old merchant square.”
    “I’d like to take the lead group to scout the area.”
    “Of course, Duras,” Thaena said, also involved in Bastun’s observation. “We shall be along shortly with the others.”
    Bastun’s mind flew through the tomes of history he had studied among the vremyonni, trying to place the odd smearing of ash, the vague shape that just barely escaped his memory. Duras led the lead warriors toward the clearing, leaving Syrolf in charge of the fifteen in the rear. More of the oddly quiet thunder rumbled, and the snow came on in larger flakes as Bastun tried to shield the symbol from being obscured. The sound of the warriors’ boots crunching through the snow was powerfully loud, amplified by his mask, and he tried to shut out the world around him.
    The Firedawn Cycle still tugged at his mind, keeping a rhythm he could not shake from his thoughts. Sighing in consternation, he caught himself humming the tune and looked back at the the sigil from the opposite side of the obelisk. His mind refused to recognize it.
    At the distant end of the street he heard Duras’s group stop, their voices low as they discussed something they’d found.
    Shutting out their voices, Bastun drew closer to understanding what he was seeing. Thaena had backed away, watching the bobbing light of the torches through the snow with concern.
    “Is this supposed to be here?” Bastun heard them say, a slight echo among the close buildings of the merchant square.
    It clicked in his mind: an ancient book on ancient and extant languages of the north. An arch here, a straight line there, the pattern matched well. He remembered the page, a listing of ancient arcane alphabets in the surrounding regions of Rashemen. His eyes widened in alarm and his quick intake of breath drew Thaena’s attention.
    “It looks like the path has been blocked,” Duras’s voice said, a note of caution echoing in Bastun’s ears.
    “Call them back!” he said and faced the distant clearing. “The symbol is of the Nar!”

chapter Three
    Running toward the open square, Bastun yelled through the fog. Dulled thunder rolled through the clouds. The wind picked up, obscuring his warnings. Syrolf shouted behind him, running to stop him, but as the wind shifted Bastun could already hear the sound of taut bowstrings straining against the curve of bows. He spun around, seeing Syrolf several paces back, and waved his hand.
    “Get down!”
    Arrows whipped through the fog, cracking against buildings on the eastern side of the road. Several found their marks. A few warriors dropped to their knee with arrows embedded in shoulders and legs or long cuts where the missiles had grazed exposed skin. Bastun rolled in the snow, diving behind a nearby column for cover. Shouts erupted from the square down the street, a similar attack taking Duras by surprise. The Rashemi acted quickly, scattering and spreading out so they would not be such easy targets. Syrolf and a few others formed a semicircle around Thaena, who began casting.
    Bastun watched and waited as Thaena wove a spell of protection against the bows. The energy she summoned made tiny ripples in the Weave that he could feel, tempting him to call upon his own magic. He gritted his teeth, breathing slow and even.
    The attackers loosed another volley of arrows, this time