a halt and gaped. “ That’s your plan? Man…she really fucked your brains out.”
“Got a better idea, smart ass?”
“No.” Connor kicked at the grass. “But it’s a stupid plan. You have no idea if the Elders know what you’re after or not.”
“Well”—Aidan shrugged—“I’m about to find out.”
Dressed for battle in loose trousers and tunic, Aidan slipped into the Temple of the Elders on silent feet. He moved within the shadows, ever conscious of the vids that recorded every visitor.
His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his heart slow and sure. He’d watched as the majority of Elders had departed, leaving behind the lone sentinel whose day it was to remain in secluded meditation. The single guard at the door was easily distracted by suspicious noises created by Connor, and Aidan slipped behind him and entered the cool, dark haiden .
Tick tock. In the deathly silence of the stone edifice, the relentless dwindling of time was inescapable.
Aidan traversed the long hallway that led to the honden —a separate part of the Temple complex he doubted had ever felt the feet of a Guardian. The floor beneath him began to waver, growing translucent, revealing a swirling kaleidoscope of colors. The part of him that questioned and researched everything wanted to linger and look, but his heart urged him forward.
He paused a moment on the threshold of an arched entryway, the hairs on his neck rising with acute awareness. The warning was clear, and he never doubted his instincts. When he leaped into the round room, he was prepared for the glaive that thrust toward him, knocking it aside with a perfectly aimed parry.
He had only a split second to note the walls lined with bound volumes and a large console that dominated the center of the vast space before the gray-robed figure lunged at him again.
“You trespass, Captain,” hissed the voice from the shadowed depths of the cowl. Lunging forward, wide sleeves falling back to reveal pale but brawny arms, the Elder fought with surprising ferocity.
Which did not deter Aidan at all. Focused and determined, he was coldly calculated. He had no idea what fueled the Elder, but he was fueled by desperation. Since failure was not an option, he had nothing to lose.
Forward and back, spinning and arching away from gleaming glaives in a macabre dance, neither took the advantage. Aidan wondered at this, his chest heaving only slightly from his exertions, his body too fit to feel even a hint of fatigue. He needed the Elder alive, but the Elder had no discernible reason for returning the favor.
Soon the Elder, though skilled, began to tire. He was simply no match for an opponent who held a blade most hours and days of his life. He tripped on the hem of his robe and fell backward. As his arms flailed, his glaive flew from his hand and went skidding across the stone. Fighting for balance, he slapped his hand palm down on the surface of the center console, setting it ablaze in flashing lights.
Aidan froze in mid-swing as he saw the face revealed when the gray hood was dislodged.
“Master Sheron,” he breathed, his sword arm falling.
Then he quickly raised it again, pressing the deadly point against the Elder’s rapidly pumping carotid when he reached for the touchpad. “Don’t.”
“You must let me.”
“No.” Aidan studied his old teacher with wide eyes.
Pale skin, pure white hair, and pupils so wide and dark they swallowed the whites of his eyes altogether made the mentor he’d known look like a corpse of the vital man he once was.
“If you don’t allow me to fix what I’ve done,” Sheron rasped, “We will all die, including your precious Dreamer.”
Aidan stilled, his gaze narrowing as a low rumble of sound permeated the soles of his feet and spread upward through his bones. “What the hell…?”
“If you let me proceed”—Sheron lifted his chin in silent challenge—“I will tell you what you came here to learn.”
Growling out a low
“Got a better idea, smart ass?”
“No.” Connor kicked at the grass. “But it’s a stupid plan. You have no idea if the Elders know what you’re after or not.”
“Well”—Aidan shrugged—“I’m about to find out.”
Dressed for battle in loose trousers and tunic, Aidan slipped into the Temple of the Elders on silent feet. He moved within the shadows, ever conscious of the vids that recorded every visitor.
His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his heart slow and sure. He’d watched as the majority of Elders had departed, leaving behind the lone sentinel whose day it was to remain in secluded meditation. The single guard at the door was easily distracted by suspicious noises created by Connor, and Aidan slipped behind him and entered the cool, dark haiden .
Tick tock. In the deathly silence of the stone edifice, the relentless dwindling of time was inescapable.
Aidan traversed the long hallway that led to the honden —a separate part of the Temple complex he doubted had ever felt the feet of a Guardian. The floor beneath him began to waver, growing translucent, revealing a swirling kaleidoscope of colors. The part of him that questioned and researched everything wanted to linger and look, but his heart urged him forward.
He paused a moment on the threshold of an arched entryway, the hairs on his neck rising with acute awareness. The warning was clear, and he never doubted his instincts. When he leaped into the round room, he was prepared for the glaive that thrust toward him, knocking it aside with a perfectly aimed parry.
He had only a split second to note the walls lined with bound volumes and a large console that dominated the center of the vast space before the gray-robed figure lunged at him again.
“You trespass, Captain,” hissed the voice from the shadowed depths of the cowl. Lunging forward, wide sleeves falling back to reveal pale but brawny arms, the Elder fought with surprising ferocity.
Which did not deter Aidan at all. Focused and determined, he was coldly calculated. He had no idea what fueled the Elder, but he was fueled by desperation. Since failure was not an option, he had nothing to lose.
Forward and back, spinning and arching away from gleaming glaives in a macabre dance, neither took the advantage. Aidan wondered at this, his chest heaving only slightly from his exertions, his body too fit to feel even a hint of fatigue. He needed the Elder alive, but the Elder had no discernible reason for returning the favor.
Soon the Elder, though skilled, began to tire. He was simply no match for an opponent who held a blade most hours and days of his life. He tripped on the hem of his robe and fell backward. As his arms flailed, his glaive flew from his hand and went skidding across the stone. Fighting for balance, he slapped his hand palm down on the surface of the center console, setting it ablaze in flashing lights.
Aidan froze in mid-swing as he saw the face revealed when the gray hood was dislodged.
“Master Sheron,” he breathed, his sword arm falling.
Then he quickly raised it again, pressing the deadly point against the Elder’s rapidly pumping carotid when he reached for the touchpad. “Don’t.”
“You must let me.”
“No.” Aidan studied his old teacher with wide eyes.
Pale skin, pure white hair, and pupils so wide and dark they swallowed the whites of his eyes altogether made the mentor he’d known look like a corpse of the vital man he once was.
“If you don’t allow me to fix what I’ve done,” Sheron rasped, “We will all die, including your precious Dreamer.”
Aidan stilled, his gaze narrowing as a low rumble of sound permeated the soles of his feet and spread upward through his bones. “What the hell…?”
“If you let me proceed”—Sheron lifted his chin in silent challenge—“I will tell you what you came here to learn.”
Growling out a low
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