by J M D Reid
He’d come by them honestly.
Beneath the hearth, he excavated a hole with a shovel, piling the old dirt in a small mound until he’d dug it big enough. The soil looked dry. He set the crate inside, her jar packed in sand. The jewelchines in there would keep her brain alive for eternity, or so Dualayn claimed.
Avena came up alongside him when he rose. She stared down in the hole then pulled out his old, black gloves from her satchel. His new ones were made of fine cow leather, dyed the purple of a defender. Avena herself had stitched on the circles, each the color of flame, on the backs.
“I’m home,” she whispered to Ōbhin before she tossed his gloves on top of the box.
“You sure you want to put those stained things in there with your brain?” Ōbhin asked, staring at his shame. Thanks to Avena, he had finally pried them off. She’d restored his pride. His life. She’d upheld the promise she’d made to him in an alley behind a seedy tavern.
“Even stained, they protected me.” His promised, as the Lothonians called their betrothed, slipped her arm around his waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s comforting knowing they’re watching over the most important part of me.”
When they left here, Ōbhin and Avena’s war against the Brotherhood would begin. So he savored this quiet moment with her, unsure what their future would hold.
The END of Book Two
You must click here to find out what happens in “Obsidian Mind”!
Exciting Peek at “Dual”
Author Note: Curious about the whole story of what happened between Ōbhin and Taim in the Mines of Gunya? Check out Dual!
Doubt poisoned Taim’s thoughts as he raised his sword and parried the Black-painted bastard’s blow.
Their curved resonance blades buzzed as they clashed. Vibrations shivered the handle gripped in Taim’s dyed-olive gloves. The emerald jewelchines, portmanteau of jewel machines, in the pommels of both weapons flared to life. The power hummed through the blades, making their edges incredibly sharp, capable of cutting through stone, let alone flesh, with ease. Both blades had the sinuous curve of the tulwar, a saber-like blade favored by the Qothians. The vibrations rattled through both weapons as their keen edges sough to carve through the other’s folded steel.
Against a regular sword, one not enhanced by the emerald jewelchines, the resonance blade would sever through the strongest steel and bury into the chest of its wielder. Each weapon drew upon the purest form of harmonic Green and channeled the energy of creation to make something stronger, better. Deadlier.
Taim’s breath quickened, matching the increased beat of his heart. The first beads of perspiration glistened on his brow. His tooled leather boots crunched on the crushed, white stone that made up the sands, the purity that filled the circular arena. The vile rapist’s skill exceeded Taim’s abysmal martial talent.
But he would not relent. He would avenge the assaulted personage of his betrothed, Lady Foonauri.
“Black-smeared serpent!” Taim bellowed, the defiant bravado in his words not matching the clumsiness of his riposte. To him, Ōbhin epitomized the worst hue of all: Black. The stain which marred the world’s creation, the pigment that had darkened all the brightness of the other seven Colours as the Deity had painted his masterpiece.
Ōbhin batted away Taim’s swipe with a buzzing clatter of resonating metal.
When Taim had challenged Ōbhin to the duel, he knew he was outmatched by the perfect specimen of masculinity that the Black-painted bastard possessed. But he could not back down. What sort of man would tolerate such a violation upon the personage of the woman he loved?
Ōbhin was a coward who’d traded his pair of amethysts for a longer life.
Taim retreated beneath a quick flurry of Ōbhin’s tulwar. The curved blade flashed like silver in the afternoon sunlight, the emerald jewelchine sparkling with Green. The crowd gasped, witnessing the impending death of their country’s heir at the hands of a man one step above peasant, as low as a man could be and still number among the peerage of Qoth.
He’s going to kill me.
Taim tried to keep that poisoned thought out of his mind and focus on swinging his resonance sword. He struggled to recall all the instructions his many tutors had given him over the course of his twenty springs of life. He tried to move like a flowing stream melting from a glacier and tumbling with headlong power down the slopes of the mountains, to dance with the grace that Ōbhin possessed.
Taim’s long jacket, called a sherwani, squeezed about his chest and gut. It battled to contain his bulk in some semblance of martial regality. His sarong shifted about his waist, the skirt-like garment rustling as he moved. He struggled to keep good footing, focusing his thoughts as much on the movement of his feet as the dance of his blade. Concentration fatigued his mind. Ōbhin’s onslaught made Taim’s desperate jerking of limbs flail like the impotent twitches of a beetle stuck on its back.
Metal rang. Blades hummed. Jewelchines flared. Sparks burst when sword met sword. Sweat poured down Taim’s sallow face from his short black hair, overwhelming his thick eyebrows to sting his eyes. His hands grew damp in his gloves, the supple leather shifting against his palm, worsening his grip on his weapon.
I don’t want to die. I can yield. The horrible, treasonous, cowardly thought danced through his mind as he retreated farther and farther back from Ōbhin’s attack across the Sands of Truth.
Gasps rose from the watching peasants and craftsmen. He could almost hear the rustle of silk sarees as the noblewomen of Qoth trembled in anticipatory delight. Taim’s gaze flashed across the stands; he spotted his parents, the Satrap of Qoth standing straight-backed beside Taim’s mother sitting on her chair, both as remote as statues.
They already mourned his death. He saw it in his father’s tight jaw, in the glossy look in his mother’s eyes as they peered through the slits in her mask.
Even Lady Foonauri feared his death. Not even she believed in him.
Why should she? I don’t.
Their tulwars clashed again. Taim’s breathing grew more and more labored as he fought to keep Ōbhin’s keen blade from finding his flesh. His blood pounded fear through his veins, strangled his face. He blinked the irritating sweat from his eyes. His limbs burned, his resonance sword weighing down his arm.
Panic rose through his chest, demanding that he yield. Terror begged for him to surrender before Ōbhin’s humming blade found his flesh.
Click here to read the rest of Dual!
About the Author
J.M.D. Reid has been a long-time fan of Fantasy ever since he read The Hobbit way back in the fourth grade. His head has always been filled with fantastical tales, and he is eager to share the worlds dwelling in his dreams with you.
Reid is long-time resident of the Pacific Northwest in and around the City of Tacoma. The rainy, gloomy atmosphere of Western Washington, combined with the natural beauty of the evergreen forests and the looming Mount Rainier, provides the perfect climate to brew creative worlds and exciting stories!
When he’s not writing, Reid enjoys playing video games, playing D&D and listening to amazing music.
You an follow him on twitter @JMDReid, like him on Facebook, visit his blog, and sign up for his newsletter.
