Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Ergal flew toward the black city and disappear into the pre-dawn fog. Only the tall, skinny dark towers of the obsidian city were discernible as the sky slid from starry black to dusky gray. But Rhaoul knew that somewhere in the depths of the scum and the rags of the darkness below walked Aora.
He closed his eyes and sent his mind forward, searching again for the light that distinguished her from the darkened wretches huddling in the dead-end streets. His mind caught the traces of her on an elderly man, her light lingering around him like a soft smile. A middle-aged woman came next, her brightened shadow matching the graying sky instead of the ebony crevices in which she lived, betraying how the woman had felt Aora's forbidden touch. A stream of children huddled around the next corner and--
Rhaoul reeled back in his saddle. Their souls radiated the warmth of the first rays of the morning sun.
She had spoken to them.
Blast it. She had to be stopped.
Rhaoul leaned around the deadly iron spikes running the length of his horse's neck, resting a hand on the soft, wolfish fur covering the beast's back, and whispered into the coal-colored ear. "Azhram, fly." The beast snorted, its breath a misty gray in the cold air.
Then it leapt forward, and they plunged off the cliff.
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