Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm Read Online Free

Korla.
    Smirking at her relief, Riv scoffed, “Why? If he's not going to run or fight, what else
     can he do?”
    “The last thing Borys expects: hide in the very place he's trying to ambush me,” Tithian
     was untroubled by Riv's obvious delight at his plight. The headman would pay for his
     insolence soon enough.
    Tithian thought his plan stood a good chance of seeing him through until help arrived. If
     Borys thought his agents could stop Rikus and Sadira, the Dragon was underestimating them
     badly. As long as the pair believed they were coming to meet Agis, they would find a way
     to reach Samarah. Once they did, they would have no choice but to help him slay Borys.
    The king studied Riv's brawny form for a moment, then used the Way to visualize himself
     growing as large and strong as the headman. A torrent of searing energy rushed from the
     lens into his body. The king's arms burst into agony as his muscles began to swell, taking
     on a knotted, bulging shape. After his arms came his shoulders and neck, then his chest,
     back, and stomach. Each transformation brought with it a fresh surge of pain. Tithian
     clenched his teeth and waited for the Dark Lens to change his thoughts into reality, until
     at last his legs felt as thick and bandy as Riv's.
    The king slipped his arms, now as sinewy as those of a half-giant, around the heavy lens.
     He lifted it easily, then moved toward the center of the plaza, shuffling to keep from
     banging his knees on the huge orb. The crowd of Samaran children backed away, their
     half-filled waterskins dribbling precious liquid onto the dusty ground.
    “Where are you going?” Sacha demanded, floating at Tithian's side.
    “I told you: to hide,” the king replied.
    “What good will that do?” the head whispered into Tithian's ear. “There isn't a villager
     here who'd hesitate to tell the Balkans where you are.”
    “I've thought of that already,” Tithian replied.
    As he spoke, the king concentrated on the people ahead, fixing their faces firmly in his
     mind. He used the Way to visualize them clasping at their throats, choking and gasping for
     air. He felt the energy of the Dark Lens flow through his body and into the ground. A
     column of brown mist whooshed from the well, spreading over the plaza with the fetid,
     caustic odor of charred flesh. The sound of coughing and gagging filled the air, then
     Samarans started to drop, their strangled voices calling for help. The instant a body hit
     the ground, its flesh grew ashen and began to wither.
    Heavy steps sounded behind Tithian. The king turned and saw Riv charging, his muzzle
     twisted into a snarl of rage. “Murderer!” The headman flung himself into the air.
    Tithian shifted the Dark Lens to one hand and raised his other arm. He opened himself to
     the lens's power. He felt a streak of mystic energy rush through his body, then Riv's
     chest hit his hand. A dark flash erupted from beneath the king's palm, engulfing his
     attacker in a pall of absolute blackness. The headman howled in pain, but the cry was
     strangely muted, as if the ebon fire of the lens had swallowed it. Riv's scorched bones
     clattered to the ground, trailing wisps of greasy, foul-smelling smoke.
    Hardly seeming to notice her dead husband or any of the other dying villagers, Korla
     stumbled to Tithian's side.
    
    
     “I'm
    
    
     choking,” she croaked. “Save me!”
    Tithian shook his head. “You must die as well.”
    Korla's eyes widened in disbelief. “No!”
    “If Borys finds you, he'll tear your mind apart with the Way,” Tithian explained. “You'll
     tell him where to find me.”
    “I would never,” Korla said, stepping back in fear.
    Tithian caught her hand and pulled it to the lens. A flame flashed beneath her fingers,
     then her body erupted into a column of crimson fire. The blaze died away quickly, and all
     that remained where Korla had stood were her bones, a pearly heap of ash, and a