The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

city’s industrious cacophony. Stores with brightly painted façades were open late, criers hawked their wares, children and dogs played in streets and yards by lamplight, the occasional beggar shook a rattling cup of copper chits at passersby, and the air lay heavy with the smells of fish and salt from the harbor. It was a larger, busier place than Port Kymer, which made sense. Tal Hae was the capital of Harkran and one of the largest cities in the kingdom.
    A pair of scampering urchins stopped a game of tag to stare at her, then turned to whisper and giggle to one another. Once this would have stung, but her years at the temple in Port Kymer had built up around her an armor of calm equanimity. Having withstood the relentless cold suspicion of her sisters for so long, she was no longer troubled by the snickers of children. Her refuge, an inner calm and measured observation of the world, served her well as she floated through the strange streets of Tal Hae, following in a crowd of mismatched strangers. Her life could hardly have taken a more unexpected turn, summoned by a great wizard to help prevent calamity, but there was no use panicking. And besides, even if Abernathy somehow convinced her to stay as part of his team, she could not accompany them during daylight. His choice of her—or his spell’s choice—must have been in error.
    The Street of Bakers was quieter than most, two blocks removed from the nearest plaza and the busier nighttime thoroughfares. Where most streets saw shops and houses huddled shoulder-to-shoulder, the half-dozen bakeries kept their distance from one another, separated by lawns and fences. To Morningstar they looked like nobles’ houses.
    “Here we are.” Dranko gestured grandly at a small manor house painted a uniform forest green. “The wizard’s flophouse.”
    A large wooden sign hung from a post set in the front yard. “The Greenhouse,” it announced, and the words were imposed over a painted baguette. A smaller sign had been tacked beneath the large one, warning “closed for repairs.” There were large bay windows—made with actual plates of glass—set in the street-facing wall of the house, covered with translucent curtains that only revealed the lamps lit within.
    “I hope the Greenhouse has food,” said Mrs. Horn. “I feel Abernathy owes us dinner for a start, especially since mine is going to rot on my butcher’s block.”
    “I’m starving!” Tor said, sounding like he just wanted to be agreeable. Morningstar didn’t think the lad would take much convincing to stay on as Abernathy’s servant.
    They approached the large, thick door of the house, a slab of lacquered oak inscribed with unfamiliar letters. Grey Wolf tried the knob. It didn’t turn.
    “It’s locked,” he grumbled. “Abernathy didn’t give any of you a key when I wasn’t looking, did he?”
    Aravia stepped up and rubbed her hands together. “I can take care of this.”
    Except for the appearance of Abernathy’s window (and, technically, the summoning and dismissal of the group), Morningstar had never seen wizard magic up close. It wasn’t expressly forbidden at the temple, but divine magic was a different thing altogether. Was she about to witness Aravia’s minor lockbreaker ?
    “Wait,” said Ernie. “I thought I saw someone in there, behind the curtains.”
    “Maybe our great wizard forgot to tell some baker we was movin’ in,” said Kibilhathur. “Old geezer seemed like the sort what could overlook that sort a’ thing.”
    “How about we knock, like the civilized people I’m sure we are.” Mrs. Horn winked. “We’re not vandals yet, are we?” She rapped her knuckles on the door.
    A few seconds later there came the sound of a bolt being drawn back. The door opened, revealing a tall gentleman in a spotless butler’s uniform. His face was gaunt, his hair graying at the temples, and his bearing exemplary.
    “May I have your names, sirs and madams?” His voice was precise and