A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) by Freda Warrington Read Free Book Online

to decide Forluin’s fate.
    ‘Yes. I am afraid to go, but I will.’
    Preparations were made. The ship from An’raaga had returned, and this was the ship they took. It was built to hold ten horses, and was small and seaworthy. The only horse it carried on this journey was Estarinel’s stallion Shaell.
    Englirion spoke to him in private, telling him of Filitha’s words, and of Eldor – for he had once met the sage. He explained that Forluin would see him as their sole hope; and that it was a perilous and grave journey upon which he embarked. Estarinel by now felt only numb, for he had already felt too much. He knew the grief his family would suffer if he should go and not return; and he knew he was stepping into the terrifying unknown.
    He was to take four companions with him to the House of Rede. Falin and Arlena went gladly; but when he asked Lilithea, tears came to her eyes.
    ‘I cannot go; I can’t bear you to leave without me, but I am a healer, and people are sick, and I must try to help them.’ She hung her head, fighting tears for a few seconds, then she said, ‘Come back safely, E’rinel,’ and walked away.
    Lothwyn wished to stay with their parents, for their father was now very ill. Eventually Estarinel took two of the crew who had been to An’raaga, for they were so distressed at the state of Forluin that they wished to be away again, and they knew how the ship handled. They were a blond man, Edrien, and a chestnut-haired woman, Luatha. He had met them because, in spite of the Serpent, they had gone to his mother to apologise that there was no Gorethrian horse for her.
    A sword had to be fashioned for Estarinel, for there were few weapons on Forluin. They were given travelling clothes and provisions; and as they set sail there were blessings and tears from all. And they had just heard that Englirion had died of the Serpent-fever.
    The Worm’s attack was weeks ago now. Yet the gloom and its stench had not lifted; no new growth had appeared on the devastated land. Many people were in the grip of a fatal fever, others in danger of starvation because of the ruined crops.
    This was the country that Estarinel watched slipping over the rim of the horizon; his home, which had always been green and its people loving and joyful. He might not see it again, either in its present state or in its old, true one. And his misery was so great that it seemed to be outside him, so he thought he felt nothing.
    As Estarinel finished the tale he was shaken to see how little the Gorethrian Prince and the Alaakian woman reacted; they hardly seemed moved by what was to him a monstrous tragedy. And these are to be my companions, he thought, these people who do not care.
    Then Ashurek spoke.
    ‘I shall not comment on your story, because I do not expect comments on mine. Make of it what you will; it is a wild and evil tale, but true in every word.’
    So Estarinel and Medrian heard a history that no one, not even Eldor, knew in full; and that was the story of Ashurek, Prince of Gorethria.

Chapter Three. The Egg-Stone’s Bearer
    Gorethria was a bizarre and beautiful country that had spawned an equally strange people. They were tall, slim, graceful, and deep purple-brown of skin; their hair was black and worn long; they dressed ornately and were beardless; and their eyes were many-coloured and brooding. They loved beauty and brilliance; they were intelligent and creative, strong willed, loyal to their country – but they were an arrogant and pitiless race.
    For over a thousand years they had subjugated the entire continent once known as Vardrav, now called the Gorethrian Empire. Their almost aesthetic delight in war and bloodshed and the fanatical precision of their strategy had meant that stronger but less finely-honed civilizations than theirs had fallen before their cruel armies. Their inborn ruthlessness and power of invention had kept those countries under Gorethria’s dark control ever since.
    Ashurek’s father, Ordek