The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) by Everet Martins Page B

head on a pike,” he said between breaths.
    He reached under his entangled arm and retrieved the talon-like dagger from his sleeve, brandishing it between his fingers. He slashed at the tentacle binding his chest and at the one around his wrist. The tentacles withered and shrunk, releasing their grasp on him. He hung upside down from the tentacle that bound his ankle. It whipped him through the air like a doll, preparing to smash him upon the cave’s floor. His robe spilled over his head, exposing his pale body, a canvas of tattooed arcane letters.
    The letters on his skin flashed and a portal sliced horizontally through the air, bisecting the tentacle and dropping him through the blue oval of light. A jet of blood shot from the remaining tentacle half, spraying like champagne. The top half of the tentacle flopped behind Darkthorne, followed by Malek through the other side of his portal. Malek reached his arm around Darkthorne’s helm, raising it and exposing his neck. In his other hand, he pressed the crescent dagger firmly against Darkthorne’s scarred neck.
    “I told you I would —” A burst of purple light flashed from Darkthorne’s body. Malek was sent hurling into the wall. He fell to a slump and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The spots of Darkthorne’s armor where flesh was exposed glowed with brilliant purple. His vision swam with white bubbles.
    “You talk too much,” Darkthorne said. The great lord’s favor. No, not like this.
    Darkthorne raised his hand and a purple ball of light grew in size in his palm. I must kill him. Slay one of the Wretched?
    “You pathetic fools,” a booming voice resounded in the chamber. A humanoid like figure appeared of swirling mist and forking lightning. The violet ball of light in Darkthorne’s hand vanished as he turned to face the intruder.
    “Who dares —?”
    The misting electricity faded, becoming the form of Asebor. “You squabble against yourselves, undermining all of our efforts,” Asebor said. Darkthorne and Malek immediately prostrated themselves against the dusty floor.
    “My lord,” Malek croaked.
    “You will bring ruin to my house. The Tower works night and day, pulling the strings of the other realms, mounting their forces against us.” Asebor paced around them and the chains around his legs clinked against each other.
    “I hear echoes from the historians of the Great Retreat, speaking of my former reign. The villagers listen, taking up arms.” The torches burned with increased intensity, brightening the room. “They do not trust the rumors we’ve spread. We are not prepared to withstand an assault from the realms. If they come to grasp our hold on Zoria…” He released a long breath. “And here are you two, my generals, obliterating each other.”
    “Great lord,” Darkthorne said, raising his head from the floor. “Malek has failed you, master. The Falcon moves,” he stammered.
    “How have you come upon this knowledge, my favored?”
    “I, well— I sent assassins to Midgaard. They told me and I felt it necessary to take swift action, my lord.” He rose to his hands and knees, armor glowing with a faint purple light. “Before this bumbling wizard created more problems. He hasn’t been able to control the King. I was going to silence —”
    “So you sent Skin Flayers to silence the King, did you? To ensure he did not send the Falcon?” Asebor interrupted, eyes burning. “You were to keep our presence quiet, not solidify its existence in the minds of the people!” He put his boot on the back of Darkthorne’s head and pressed it into the floor.
    “And did you succeed in silencing our beloved King?” Asebor leaned forward, pressing his weight upon Darkthorne’s steely head. Malek bit his lip and the insides of his mouth.
    “No, but he’s going to —” He gasped as the chains from around Asebor’s legs flew into the air, like vipers to about to strike. The tendrils wound around Darkthorne’s body, becoming