Path of the Warrior Read Online Free Page A

kept his conversation short, eluding any questions concerning the nature of the piece until he was ready to reveal all.
    As he wandered amongst the guests, Korlandril felt a thrill running through him. With each beat of his heart his waystone reciprocated, the double-pulse quivering in his chest. He absorbed excitement from the guests and projected it back to them. He was pleased with the attention, a salve to his pride after the tribulations he had faced completing the sculpture.
    Exchanging pleasantries, Korlandril scanned the crowd for Thirianna and spied her with a group of three other eldar in one of the lianderin groves not far from where the shimmering holofield concealed Korlandril’s exhibit.
    Korlandril allowed himself a moment to admire her beauty from a distance, delighting intellectually and emotionally in the close-fitting suit of red and black she wore. The curves of her arms and legs mirrored those of the branches above her, a natural elegance accentuated by her delicate poise and precise posture. Her hair, pigmented a deep yellow, fell in a tumble of coils down her back, woven through with red ribbons that hung to her waist.
    As she stepped to one side, Korlandril saw Aradryan. He was smiling, in the deliberate way maintained by those not entirely comfortable with their surrounds. Korlandril felt the serpent of envy quiver ever so slightly within him, which disturbed him. He thought he had put aside that haunting doubt, that fear lingering at the very edge of his awareness. Seeing Aradryan with Thirianna brought his concerns into stark view and Korlandril’s pulse quickened and his thoughts raced for a moment.
    Korlandril directed his gaze away as he walked across the meadow, allowing the calm of the garden dome to still the turbulence in his thoughts. Lianderin blossom was just beginning to bud, like golden stars in a deep green night, and the scent of the grass rose up from beneath his tread, cleansing and pure. By the time he reached the group, Korlandril was composed once more, genuinely happy to see his friends in attendance.
    Aradryan extended a palm in greeting and Korlandril laid his hand upon his friend’s in return. The welcome was repeated with Thirianna, her touch cool and reassuring. As he pulled back his hand, Korlandril allowed his fingertips to brush gently over those of Thirianna, and he allowed his eyes to meet hers for a heartbeat longer than was normal.
    “We are all quivering with anticipation,” said one of the group, another sculptor called Ydraethir. He wore a half-gown of deep purple across his waist and left shoulder, cut short on the thighs, exposing skin that had been bleached almost pure white. Ydraethir followed the school of Hithrinair, which saw the sculptor as much a part of the work as the sculpture itself. Korlandril had dabbled with its aesthetic for a few cycles but had quickly found himself to be a dull subject and preferred to express himself through his work at a distance. Korlandril searched for a hint of irony or rivalry in his companion’s comment and pose, but concluded that Ydraethir was being sincere.
    “It is my hope that such expectation is warranted,” replied Korlandril with a grateful bow of the head. He turned and greeted the fourth eldar, the renowned bonesinger Kirandrin. “I am very grateful for the interest and enthusiasm you have all shown in my work.”
    “I have watched your development closely since I first came upon one of your early works,” Kirandrin said. “I believe it was The Blessing of Asurmen, a life-size piece displayed in the atrium of the Tower of the Evening Melodies.”
    “My second ever piece,” said Korlandril with a warm smile of remembrance. “I am still privileged that Abrahasil saw fit to show my works so early on in my time upon the Path. I have kind regard for that particular sculpture, though my work has moved so far beyond such simplistic formulae now, it feels as if it might have been created by someone