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Back Copper Chain Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. CONTENTS
  5. MAP
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  62. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The thick line of defenders splintered into fragments, each group vainly trying to stem the flow of Palemon’s cold bloods as they climbed up from the ladders and formed knots of their own. The clansmen from the desert played their part too, launching volleys of arrows and supporting the warriors from Necropolis with their greater numbers. The Ilean archers directed their fire onto the natives, sending cloth-wrapped warriors screaming as they fell from the ladders with arrows sprouting from their bodies.

With the aid of half a dozen cold bloods Palemon cleared section after section. Looking past the next group of defenders, he saw an officer, a veteran with weathered skin and a white crest on his helm, calling on his men to hold together. Palemon fought to reach him, but Ilean soldiers kept coming at him, and then he lost the officer altogether.

He was red-faced and panting, his arms growing heavy from wielding his sword, but he knew that despite the streaks of gray in his hair he was at the peak of physical fitness, the warrior king of a people born to fight. The defenders fell like flies, swatted into oblivion by axes, hammers, and swords fashioned long ago in Aleuthea. The magical wind was dying down and the air was clearing, but Zara’s work was done: grit was in the defenders’ eyes and terror was forcing them to flee in droves.

His chest heaving, Palemon paused to scan the long walls for the next pocket of resistance. The officer was gone: either fled or fallen, but he saw Zara a hundred paces away. The sorceress stood at a corner tower with two of her fellow magi. She was easily distinguishable from her companions: the two men wore gray robes and clutched staffs crowned with hoops of gold, while Zara held the staff that she had used to summon the wind that brought the Solaris to these lands and to cast sand into the eyes of the defenders: a straight wooden pole with a warped twist of pure silver at its summit. Slender and beautiful, with high cheekbones and skin like marble, Zara’s black hair flowed sleek and straight down her back and she wore a figure-hugging dress of dark blue. She was pointing out something to one of her fellows when a wiry Ilean suddenly launched himself toward her. She turned and calmly pointed her staff at him. The silver device glowed, and a pocket of air struck the center of his chest and propelled him from the walls. A moment later she was speaking with her companion again.