The Tenth Order Read Online Free PDF

the leather hafts as he raced toward his enemies. As he reached the first, his hand shot out—empty now, the swords nothing but memory—and closed around warm flesh. The thug gurgled for a moment, then fell limply to the ground. Hunter didn’t stop to examine the results, but turned to the next, his fists seeking a new target. Hunter felt them connect with the thin bones of nose and cheeks, and tasted the salty spray of blood on his lips. Everything was a red haze in his eyes, but by instinct he found the man’s throat, squeezed, and felt the thug go limp.
    He turned to the hooded-one last, the only man still on his feet, and smiled. The visions were a chaos of whirling red skies, echoing sword crashes, and a thousand voices screaming words he didn’t understand. Hunter started forward, ready to finish this, but stopped as the hooded man opened his mouth.
    The familiar sounds of the unknown language spilled from the frightened man’s lips. Hunter was sure the thug was saying something—begging for his life probably—but the static-laced words erased everything else.
    So close .
    Hunter lowered his hands and moved closer, until his ear was only a few inches from the thug’s mouth. “… war …” he made out. Then, focusing all his attention on decoding the words, “… the…ladder ...”
    “What are you saying ?” Hunter yelled. He reached out and grabbed the man’s grimy sweater. The red filter of his visions had started to lift, the headache dissipating.
    “Not yet, you son of a bitch,” Hunter shook the man violently. “What are you trying to tell me?”
    “Go to hell,” the thug whispered, and Hunter felt a heavy weight smash against his skull. Crashing into a pile of garbage, Hunter flung out his hands to protect his head, grunting as a fist buried itself in his gut.
    “Wait—” A fist crushed his lips before he could finish the sentence. He tried to pull himself up, but was forced down by another thug.
    You idiot. Why did you let them out of your sight?
    One of the gang members was holding a metal pipe, and sent it thundering down on Hunter’s outstretched arm. He felt something give, and watched distantly as his arm crumpled, unresponsive. It felt like it was happening to someone else. The leader slowly stood from where Hunter had dropped him. Most of the gang members were on him now, and Hunter could hardly see from the blows raining down.
    The hooded man’s feverish gleam was back, and he laughed his coyote chuckle one last time. “Kill the fucker.”

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Father Anthony Valdis was working on his own headache when he heard the commotion outside.
    He had been reading only a moment earlier, and had just put aside his tome when a heavy thud vibrated through his window. Pausing as he set down his book, Father Valdis wondered whether to bother investigating.
    The Cathedral of Saint Catherine of Bologna was in a part of town that had a reputation . There were seldom nights when Valdis didn’t start awake at a muffled gunshot or shriek, only to rush to the window and find the perpetrators already fled. After several years he had grown shamefully accustomed to the violence.
    The muffled thud echoed again, louder this time, and Valdis finally rose and crossed to the window. Standing on his tiptoes he was just able to peek through the heavy bars that protected him from the outside world, and saw a group of strangers pummeling a crouched figure.
    “Hey!” Valdis yelled through the grate. “I’m calling the cops, you hear me? They’ll be here any minute.” The threat was flimsy and Valdis feared the thugs knew it, but he had to try anyway. Cops rarely came to this part of town after midnight, knowing crime and its attendants would be long gone by the time they arrived. But the thugs startled at Valdis’ voice even so, and scattered down the alley, leaving their victim alone in the garbage. The priest turned and pushed open the door to his tiny room, exiting into a massive