The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

chest.
    “You’re either really brave or really stupid,” Juzo muttered, his lips pulling back to reveal his teeth, sharp points glimmering in the torchlight.
    “You… you’re one of them. One of those demons that’s been attacking the villages!” he said, jabbing again with his index finger. He pulled his hand back and Blackout sliced through the air and the finger was gone, a nub of flesh rolling on the cobbles.
    Destroy, Blackout whispered.
    The man pulled his hand back, gasping and moaning with shock, clutching his wrist with the intact hand.
    Juzo let Blackout go to work on the man, he being only its conduit for destruction. Blackout cut beautiful lines through the white ocean of cloth, jerking his arm in hard directions as it hewed him limb from limb. Red liquid and bone fragments were its preferred medium.
    “You should have just let me pass,” Juzo whispered, his chest pulling in a ragged breath, sheathing Blackout. He turned around, continuing on his way as though nothing had happened, leaving a butchered mess in his wake.
    Killing all those men didn’t make him feel better. He might have saved one man’s life but killed three others. He was no better than the strange men in white. He wasn’t anyone’s hero. He was the reason people locked their doors at night. But it all ends the same, doesn’t it? At least he was full now. This should hold him over for a few days.
    Juzo wrapped his arms tightly around his body, hugging himself as he strode on. He was very likely the only person who would ever hold him, he thought with a grim snicker. In a world of enemies, he walked alone.
    Black clouds moved in, surrounding all but the yellow glow of the orb above. He tilted his head back towards the sickled moon, smiling as the great emptiness filled his heart. Not even the stars would be his friend tonight.

Chapter Three
    Morning Elixir
    “Spring comes with sweet showers. I awake to the cries of Shroomlings before the light bathes my eyes. They scurry around at night, waiting for the dawn. Their voices remind me of my childhood in Helm’s Reach, their voices like the din of the city.” - The Diaries of Baylan Spear
    A shaft of light cut through the window, bathing Walter’s eyes in its warmth. He tossed onto his side, the feather bed swallowed his flailing legs. He rested his cheek on his forearm, eyes parting. His face felt cool against Stormcaller. The Dragon forged metal encircling his arm reflected the brilliance of sun around the simple room, casting bright lines up and down the walls.
    He rose onto his elbows, staring about the room. The beds were empty, sheets pulled tight around the edges and pillows fluffed up. Some of Nyset’s herb bags had spilled open, a pinch of bright red petals below their bed. A tower of books sat beside the rectangular post of Baylan’s bed, worn with barely legible bindings, likely stinking of library. Two beds lay pushed together where Grimbald slept. The remnants of the first bed that had crumbled under his weight were stacked in a pile in the corner, broken boards and nails poking out in all directions.
    How long had it been since he left the Lair? How long since he last moved? Ate? Drank?Walter rubbed his temples, staring down at the floorboards. He worked a hand through his dark hair, scratching his scalp and pushing it back at the same time.
    He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of Stormcaller’s mirror bright finish. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He looked like a man who’d slept for days and needed more still. His eyes were sunken, lips dry and peeling. His face as pale as death. He blew out his cheeks at his ghastly reflection.
    “No more rest. It’s time to get myself together,” he said, pulling his arm away and sitting up with a groan. Maybe he would stand in just a few more minutes. A little more rest couldn’t hurt.
    The days and nights blended together when you spent most of your time sleeping, interspersed with the occasional bowl of stew or