Blackhand by Matt Hiebert Read Free Book Online Page A

It must be summoned, invited over. The god provides advice and grants us knowledge. It taught us how to harvest Ru’s residual power and use it against him.”
    Siyer walked over to the small heating stove.
    “I was one of the humans chosen to receive such knowledge,” he said. “For more than ninety years I have served as one of Yuul’s Minions...”
    “Ninety years?” Quintel could not believe it. He had guessed Siyer to be around sixty. “How old are you?”
    “One hundred and eight. I was a boy, younger than you, when Yuul called me to serve.”
    Quintel stood. He did not doubt a word of Siyer’s tale. He had come to trust the old man without question.
    “Do you believe that is my purpose in all of this? To serve Yuul?”
    Siyer nodded. “Yes. But not in the same way as myself or those who came before me.”
    “How would my service differ?”
    Siyer faced him with a thoughtful frown. He rubbed his hands together for warmth.
    “Those answers will come to you in time, Quintel,” he said. “Know that your Abanshi blood is critical to the role. I wish I could tell you more, but I cannot. Mere words cannot explain everything.”
    Quintel sat on his bed.
    “Why did you wait until now to tell me these things?”
    Siyer walked over to the game and slid it out into the middle of the room. He sat cross-legged behind his usual side of the board.
    “Only now are you ready to hear them,” he said. “It will be longer yet before I can tell you more. Now come to the board. Let's play the game.”
    Without further inquiry, Quintel took his place behind his pieces and began to play.
     

     
    Chapter 7
     
    Crag threw open the cell door and entered with four other guards behind him. Quintel and Siyer still slept.
    “Wake up, dogs,” he shouted and kicked Quintel in the stomach. “The warlord wants you.”
    The guards grabbed their chains and led them into the corridor. Still half asleep and recovering from the boot, Quintel stumbled behind clutching his midsection. Siyer's composure remained controlled.
    The guards herded them to the far side of the fortress where Huk made his quarters.
    Quintel had been imprisoned for five years. His boyhood had ended, and his features and frame were those of a man. Nothing of significance was revealed in his appearance. He was of average height and musculature, and his features remained indistinct.
    Huk no longer considered him a threat and allowed him to leave the cell for short errands requested by Siyer. The potions he concocted were still a mystery, but he knew enough about them to fool inquiries and conceal ignorance.
    Huk's chamber occupied most of the northern wing of the fortress. Behind its doors, the thick smell of incense hung in the air. Ornate furniture and tapestries splashed the large room with color and form. The work of practiced artisans stood in every corner. Statuary of mixed style provided islands of beauty at carefully chosen locations. It was a strange addition to the cold, gray tower.
    The warlord rested in his bed, wrapped in a cocoon of quilts. Two maids attended him. One cleaned his bed pot, the other administered spoonfuls of meal for his breakfast.
    Taking the two prisoners to the foot of the bed, the guards forced them to kneel. Quintel and Siyer kept their heads bowed in subservience. Quintel had long since learned to feign submission without hint of pride.
    “In three days I journey to the castle of Sirian Ru,” Huk said. “I will be gone for half a year. You must prepare enough medicine to make my trip tolerable.”
    Siyer lifted his head but did not meet Huk's eyes.
    “Half a year, Warlord? We do not have the provisions to cover those quantities,” he said. “The Tallis mushrooms spawn but once a month, and the Cloudmoss is imported from--”
    “You will do it, Siyer,” Huk commanded. “The god has called me and I must go.”
    Displeasure laced Huk's tone, but it was not directed toward Siyer. The warlord feared his drugs would dwindle on