The Trials of Trass Kathra Read Online Free PDF

her mind. On the surface, she continued to perform her role as Anointed Lord as she always had but, when her official duties ended for the day, Makennon could now be found locked in her apartments, staring into her fire, in whose flames she sought but failed to find that part of her mind she sensed was awry.
    It was almost a pity. He had promised Makennon at the moment of his ‘death’ that he would crush her church, but now, through his own manipulations, she was likely to miss it.
    Bastian Redigor sighed and reflected on events of the past year. A year – it was nothing to an elf, not even the blink of an eye and, yet, saddled as he was with this human form, it had seemed eternal. Probably no less so for Jakub Freel who, in unguarded moments, he could hear screaming in fury from somewhere deep within. Redigor admired the Allantian for his strength – even after all this time, when he should have become nothing more than a whimpering echo of his former self, Freel protested with the same strength as he had when first been lost. He was not, however, quite strong enough, and it took only a few moment’s concentration on his part to quell the internal rebellion. Yet still, when his energies could have been engaged in other matters, it was bothersome.
    But not for much longer, he hoped. Because in doing what he was going to do for the Hel’ss, he very much hoped that the Hel’ss would do something for him in return.
    Guards stiffened to attention and then moved aside as he reached his apartments. The Pale Lord barely acknowledged their presence as he swept inside. As the door was closed behind him, he allowed himself a moment of weariness, and leant against the wall with a sigh.
    As always, when he entered this so-called sanctuary, the first thing that struck him was how painfully human it was, and he rued the pretence that made it necessary to keep his private space in the style of Jakub Freel. Long as he might for things elven, he instead had to surround himself with the trappings of the sometime prince of Allantia, and these creature comforts sickened him. No less so, in fact, than the sound of that damnable Eternal Choir, whose caterwauling voices and specious songs penetrated even these thick walls. It had been beyond his – or rather Freel’s authority – to have them silenced, and so, instead, he had ensured that they suffered for their art by living up to their name. A small conjuration had bound each and every one of the singers to their positions, where they had been forced to remain since he had taken up office that seeming eternity ago. A secondary, smaller conjuration ensured that observers saw and heard nothing beyond the norm, and only he knew how they stood there now, their emaciated, undying forms with their desperate eyes struggling for release but finding all they could do was continue to sing.
    It wasn’t much but it was poetic. And it would have to do.
    Thankfully, there was one part of his apartments where he could escape both Freel’s trappings and the Eternal Choir. The inner sanctum – or prayer room – that was common to the quarters of all the Faith elite was sound-proofed and sacrosanct, and no one bar the occupant would dare set foot inside its walls. Safe in this knowledge, Redigor had removed the small altar and kneeling stone that had sat in the centre of the round, windowless chamber and replaced it with a circle of power drawn upon the stone flags of the floor. It was inert as he entered the chamber but, with a small wave of the hand, the runes that made up its pattern pulsed with a bright blue light and, a second later, an equally bright blue and slightly sparkling fog swirled dreamily in the centre of the sanctum.
    Not even slowing his pace, Redigor walked into it. Through it.
    And was somewhere else.
    The cramped, circular confines of the prayer room gave way to a much larger space, one that not only looked different but felt and smelled different, too. Here there was a chillier