Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

Dihkai in question and plants his fist right on his nose. Then, his brazen eyes immediately turn to the other Dihkai involved in the confrontation.

The same man of the Seasoned Guard moves to apprehend the drunken Lahyf, but the other Dihkai calls him off as well. The guard instead kneels to the fallen man to check his condition. These Dihkai clearly have authority over the guard.

“Do you know who we are?” the Dihkai inquires.

He’s wearing all-black formal attire and dressed a few classes above the impudent Lahyf accusing him, who’s donning a disheveled, sky-blue tunic with an unfastened vest. He looks to have been properly dressed earlier in the night, but its apparent the ale has taken over.

“A pair of no-good, nasty Grims. That’s who you are!”

“Atreus Martelli, son of Harris Martelli,” the Dihkai responds. “Named after Atreus Martelli The First, whom you may know as one of The First Four. And that man—”

“Boy!” the Lahyf interjects.

“That man you assaulted is Candrick Martelli. Also son of Harris Martelli. You have assaulted royalty.  And by assaulting us, you have assaulted the Taoiseach himself.  You will be punished rightfully so.”

The man tenses with rapid blinking. But his fear quickly quells back to anger. “Royalty? You’re no prince, boy, and your fadder’s no king. He’s a tyrant! Taboo is taboo! We don’t allow for no Grim to be walkin’ amongst us. Your fadder ain’t even ‘ere to protect you. Is he?”

He cocks his arm back to release a haymaker. But Arden, back on his feet, interlocks his own arm with the Lahyf’s just as he attempts to release his blow. The force of the large man’s strike carries Arden backward, putting him eye to eye with the angered Lahyf.

“You again!” he grunts.

With Arden locked in his grasp, the man cocks back his head and releases a blow right into Arden’s brow. Arden falls to the ground, unconscious.

A few of the surrounding spectators, unwilling to stand up to the drunkard, rush to Arden’s aid instead. They pull him away from the confrontation. One of them, his wife, Shae. I wiggle my way through the crowd to assist her.

“How dare you!” the Dihkai hollers. “Now you’re assaulting men of Parliament as well. Do you not recognize that man? He is the Architect! You damned fool! It is time for you to leave. Master Fellwood! Dispose of this man.”

“I don’t think so.”

The Lahyf denies them and takes another swing at the accused Grim before the guard moves in. Atreus, anticipating the attack better than his brother did, easily parries the man’s jab. He grabs his arm in the process and forces him to the ground.

Master Fellwood, the commander of the Seasoned Guard, and one of his men force themselves onto the Lahyf while he’s down. The two guards aren’t enough at first. The Lahyf knocks them both off, but as he rises to his feet, his strength dissolves. Both guards, with hands planted firmly on his skin, immobilize the large drunkard. He falls quietly to the ground, unconscious. And he won’t wake until the guard chooses to wake him.

Another man, dressed in a fine formal silver cloak, trimmed with pearl-white silk along with white gloves, instigates the matter further. He methodically removes each glove and proceeds to pull the two Seasoned Guards away from the drunken Lahyf. A Hiberneyt himself, just like the guards, and a well-educated one, for he drops both at once as soon as his hand touches the skin on the back of their necks. “Let’s see them battle it out, shall we? I, for one, would like to know if Atreus and Candrick are the Grims they are so blatantly being accused of being.”

“Let’s not,” a commanding voice calls out.

The man speaking is obviously a warrior. His posture, authority, and firm physique all display a man you ought not start a scuffle with. All except for his flamboyant hair, which contains enough dreaded colors it is difficult to decipher what race he is. With that colorful mop, his eyes appear to change color as he shifts in the light of the thunder lanterns. A deceiving trick.

“Master Stormwood. You, of all men, should be eager to see some hand-to-hand combat. You’re the Master of Arms at the Academy, for Susy’s sake.  It will be a display of your greatness, of your exceptional ability, to impart your own skills onto these young men.”

“Maybe so, but tonight is a night of celebration. We celebrate the arrival of Autumn; we celebrate the life it will bring, not the death it appears to be. There will be no drawing blood tonight.” Master Stormwood stands tall, arms crossed, muscles tight. “May I ask who’s instigating the matter?”

With a curt bow, he replies. “Carib Reign, sir. I meant no foul play. The flowing ales simply gave rise to courage and unrest for further entertainment.” The instigator dares not challenge him, and the commotion fades.

A couple more Seasoned Guards enter the hall from their post outside to remove the belligerent men. The fanciful instigator is permitted to continue enjoying the festivities since he did nothing but instigate. Alongside Shae, Stone, Jay, and I, attend to Arden. I hurry to the counter to steal a glass of water. Shae wakes him easily with her healing touch, and he’s back on his feet without a glimmer of pain. What it must be like to have the talent of a Lahyf. He accepts the water, nonetheless, affirming that, without water, none of us would have life. The festivities continue uninterrupted for the remainder of the evening. The dubstep beats fill the hall, with the thunder lanterns giving off an electric charge. Those filled with music, dance. Those not as fortunate, like myself, mingle, and everyone enjoys themselves through the night.

As the night comes to an end and the dawning sun shows signs of its arrival, the McLarins deem it