The Darkest Sword Samantha Kroese (easy books to read in english .TXT) 📖

Just the blade. It could speak? It was sentient then. The blade wakened and black magic in the form of lightning licked over its hilt, filling the crypt with residual electricity.

As Ashiyn walked closer, the statues came to life, screamed in fury, tried to grab onto him, to stop him. Yet, instead of touching him, they curled back in horror to cower in their spots.

Come. They cannot stop you. It is what must be. You were born to free me. The sword’s voice rang out again, sounding almost amused.

Ashiyn glanced at the statues. He did not like talk about fate and destiny and things that had to be. But nothing else explained why the statues could not touch him. He ignored the rest of those he passed. As soon as his foot stepped onto the pedestal, the sword’s lighting lashed out and caressed him. So much power. He dropped to his knees in awe of it. His magic tingled and made him shiver with ecstasy far more than any woman ever had. The power was maddening, addictive, and he craved it. It would be his. He growled, launched to his feet, and grabbed the blade’s hilt.

All the statues screamed in horror at once as the blade broke free. Once in his hand, the lightning from the sword lashed out and disintegrated the statues. Then, as it raced back over him, Ashiyn jerked and fell hard, leaning on the sword for support. The magic racing through him, binding to his own, felt like fire in his veins.

Rise, for I have made you a god. Go and take this world. All shall bow to your power. The sword promised as the pain faded away.

Ashiyn got to his feet, unsteady. He could feel the power, but it was weakened. Blood. The sword needed blood to fuel its power. He would have to kill to strengthen it again. He slid his old sword off his back and left it lying in the dust. He picked up the heavy scabbard next to the altar and strapped it on, then slid the new blade into it. The blade weighed nothing despite its massive size. It felt as though it had been created just for him.

He stomped over the dusty remains of the statues and stormed back up the stairs to where Illusion patiently awaited him, even though the reins had dropped free. The horse watched as Ashiyn stalked over to the edge of the grove, mounted, turned the horse, and let Illusion take them home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ashiyn could feel the power in the blade thrumming through every part of him. His mind still rang from the magical bond, and he felt connected to the being inside. The sword’s voice had silenced, and it had fallen dormant again, but soon he would waken it with blood. Then the world-ending cosmic power inside it would be his.

When the blade’s magic was recharged, Ashiyn would kill Rhadamanthus and all who were loyal to him. Ashiyn would take over the castle. Sark and Annalysa would be free and remain at his side. Ashiyn would take Soryn from Rurik to live with them. He and Annalysa would raise their son, possibly have even more children. Then he would have everything he had always wanted, and no one would be powerful enough to stop him.

The sword’s magic stirred in warning just before Ashiyn’s own did. Ashiyn slipped on the slick stone of the hall and looked down to see bloody footprints leading away from his chambers. His heart started to pound in his chest as he stared. He knew they were Rhadamanthus’s footprints. He could see drips of blood alongside of them, no doubt from the monster’s weapon. Annalysa? Ashiyn fought panic, frozen in place. Part of him wanted to run forward, but he knew it was pointless. Whatever had happened was over.

“Sark?” Ashiyn called, his voice breaking. He heard a squeaky wail from the direction of the cell. He burst into a run toward the sound despite everything in his being telling him to flee the other way. The floor was slippery with the blood, and he had to keep righting himself as he stumbled.

As he turned the corner to the cell, he slowed to a stop, stunned. There, nailed to the door of the cell with massive spikes, was Sark. The elderly lizardman hung limp, eyes gouged out, blood running down his snout. His body was broken and twisted grotesquely. “Master!” Sark wailed.

“Sark,” Ashiyn whispered as he hurried over to the lizardman. “Sark, I’m here.” He went to release his servant, then realized no matter what he did, Sark was going to die there in front of him. Sark was too far gone.

“I tried to save her, Master. I tried,” Sark gasped, miserable, his serpentine voice fading. “Forgive….me…” the lizardman jerked with one final choking breath, then fell limp. Ashiyn growled and struck the door next to the lizardman with his fist, repeatedly, until it hurt. Until the pain drove away the grief. He had not realized how much the silly old lizard meant to him until now. Sark had been his servant since Ashiyn was first brought to Rhadamanthus’s castle.

Ashiyn took several ragged breaths, trying to prepare himself. The blood from the room leaked out from under the door. He knew Annalysa was dead. Their child was dead. Did he really need to see it? He knew what his Master did to women who displeased him. He’d seen it before. He didn’t think he could take it if he saw her. He could just turn around and walk away. Tell the servants to clean it up. Remember how she’d been just hours ago. Warm, glowing, happy. Perhaps he could convince himself she’d been a dream. She hadn’t existed. He didn’t love her.

But, Ashiyn was no coward. He wanted the sight of her burned into his memory. He wanted her death to fuel his rage.