She held Torsten’s gaze for a few seconds longer, rage percolating behind her eyes, then finally turned. Torsten and his Shieldsmen did the same. Whitney glanced back at the giant man’s back before he vanished behind the empty throne.
I’ll miss him, was his first thought. He wasn’t exactly sure why, and he knew nothing good would ever come of seeing him again, but a part of him enjoyed traveling with someone who seldom agreed with a single thing out of his mouth. It was one of the greatest challenges he’d ever faced. Even more so, was getting the stubborn knight to give in to his charms. Torsten would never admit it, but Whitney knew it’d be a long time before he forgot him.
Guards led them out the front gates and across the castle grounds. A few others stood on ramparts, removing the corpses from the castle walls. Carts carried away piles of bodies that had already been taken down.
They reached the street and Whitney looked from side to side. “So, where to next?” he asked, breathing in deep and immediately regretting it. Just because the bodies were leaving didn’t mean the stench had yet.
“What’s the furthest city away from this awful place?” Sora said. “Away from the Shesaitju, and hateful knights, and murderous queens.”
“That depends. Above or below ground?”
“Above.” Sora nodded her head repeatedly as if she’d initially doubted herself. She smiled. “Yeah, definitely above.”
“Shog… I did love the Dragon’s Tail. Dwarves love to gamble.”
“What about Panping?” she asked.
“Bringing me to meet the parents already?” Her glare gave him goosebumps. “Sorry…”
“How about it?” she asked. “I figure, the way Torsten looks at me, it must be the most fun place in the world. Any place he dislikes must be amazing.”
“He does despise a good time, doesn’t he?” Whitney scratched his head. “It’s a fine city. A bit too many soothsayers for my taste though. They have a way of looking through you.”
“Well, now you have me. C’mon. Don’t I deserve to see why they call us knife-ears?”
“Look in the mirror.”
“I’m serious,” she said.
“You just want to figure out how in Elsewhere you performed that spell in the Woods, don’t you?”
She blushed.
“Well, I’m not sure that sort of answer is something we can steal,” Whitney said, “but I’ve never been one to turn away from an impossible job.”
“Like stealing that doll was really that hard?”
“Please, that was a cinch compared to my last foray in Yaolin City. But first things first.”
“What is it this time?”
“Let’s get out of these rags. I’m tired of smelling spider blood.”
Sora picked a few coins out of her new purse. “This should do it, and take us the whole way there.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” In one motion, he pulled his dagger and slit the bottom of the bag, the gold tumbling out into his hand. A few pieces clanged against the cobblestone street. Sora lunged at him, but he side-stepped and skipped backward.
“Lesson number three, my young apprentice,” he said. “Never accept gold from the Crown.”
“That’s lesson four,” she said.
“So, you are paying attention! Alright, off we go.”
He took a few coins and tossed them at a ragged man sleeping under an overhang, covered in mud from wagon wheels.
“There is no better place to start then from the beginning.”
XXXVIII
THE KNIGHT
Torsten stood before Uriah Davies' likeness in the Shield Hall, overlooking the smooth, snow-covered slope of Mount Lister. Celeste, the bright moon, was nowhere in sight. A strange sight, Loutis, haggard and plain being the only faint light that could be seen that night.
The Shield Hall wasn’t anywhere as glorious as the Royal Crypt, but it was where men like Torsten were buried under the watchful gaze of Iam. Men who’d dedicated their lives to the Crown.
URIAH DAVIES, WEARER OF WHITE.
Unlike the tombs of the other Wearers, there was no body buried within his. The statue was made, but he’d never returned. Now, at least, Torsten knew he was at rest through the Gate of Light.
Torsten drew the longsword that had belonged to Uriah before Redstar stole his visage. He lay it across the statue’s palms, admiring the blacksmithing. The blade was elegant, cleft down the center, but sharp as a wolf’s fang.
“I’m sorry I doubted you, old friend,” he said, placing the sword vertically between the hands of the statue. He noticed the gauntlets which had once belonged to Uriah on his hands. He’d decided he would wear them in Uriah’s honor, though they needed the attention of Hovom Nitebrittle, the Castle Blacksmith to be properly fitted.
“There is no greater honor than to die in service to God and Crown,” Torsten said. “I pray you are at peace up there beside our great King in the Light. One day, by the grace of Iam, I might join you. But for now, guide me, as you once did Liam. Please…”
A deep tremor suddenly shook the ground. Torsten heard glass shattering in the castle as he was rocked from side to side. He had to grab onto the statue just to keep from being tossed. It didn’t last long, and the moment it ended, cries for help echoed all around.
He jumped to his feet, searching the area. His gaze fell on Mount Lister, where a sliver of moonlight revealed a new gash running down the length of its side. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled toward it, beckoned.
He left the screams and the chaos of the castle at his back, descended the stairs leading outside and headed toward it. The closer he got to the base of the mountain, the louder the whispers in his head, the unflinching desire to head for the heart of the quake, grew.
He climbed over a pile of fallen rocks and found himself standing before an opening in the earth. Where Mount Lister met the plain, the ground had caved, revealing the heart of the Royal Crypt within. The oculus cutting through the side of the mountain had been smashed to shards.
Torsten crept to the edge and stared down. Too many caskets to count had been cracked open, Liam’s among them. His sword, Salvation, had been cracked into three pieces, the hilt pinned between rocks. The remaining half of his Glass Crown lay in the center of the room, glimmering under the moons glow until a shadow covered it.
Torsten’s eyes went wide.
Bending to pick up the broken crown, was Pi. Breathing, moving, he stared at the half-circlet as if it were the first thing his young eyes had ever seen. In the other hand, he clutched the bloody, ragged orepul Torsten had gone through so much to recover.
Pi Nothhelm, first and only son of Liam the Conqueror and the Flower of the Drav Cra, had been buried, but he wasn’t dead.
The story continues with Winds of War, book two in the Buried Goddess Saga.
Thank You!
Thank you for reading Web of Eyes, book one in The Buried Goddess Saga.
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FROM THE PUBLISHER
Thank you so much for reading Web of Eyes by Rhett C. Bruno and Jaime Castle. We hope you enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed bringing it to you. We just wanted to take a moment to encourage you to review the book on Amazon and Goodreads. Every review helps further the author’s reach and, ultimately, helps them continue writing fantastic books for us all to enjoy.
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Jaime lives in Texas with his wife and two kids. He enjoys anything creative, from graphic arts to painting. His office looks like the Avengers threw up on the walls.
Jaime has been writing since elementary school and is a bit of a grammar officer—here to correct and serve.
Rhett is a Sci-fi/Fantasy author currently living in Stamford, Connecticut. His published works include books in the USA Today Bestselling CIRCUIT SERIES (Published by Diversion Books and Podium Audio), THE BURIED GODDESS SAGA and the BASTARDS OF THE RING SERIES (Audible Studios, coming in 2019). He is also one of the founders of the popular science fiction platform, Sci-Fi Bridge.
Web of Eyes: (Buried Goddess Saga Book 1) Page 35
