By Divine Right by Patrick W. Carr Read Free Book Online

now they held an ominous feel as well. Behind the façade of well-manicuredpeace and prosperity lurked a man or woman who intended to duplicate the divine right of kings and seize the rule of the kingdom.
    King Laidir had impressed me as a man burdened with the interest of his subjects, high or low. I didn’t bother to speculate overly much on the nature of the one trying to replace him. Custos walked at my side as we crossed the arched bridge over one of the branches of the Rinwash. A funeral boat drifted under the corbeled arch, the body on its way to the sea far to the west. My theological training had erased most of my superstitions, but the hair on my arms lifted anyway. “It’s hard not to see that as an omen.”
    “The church doesn’t believe in omens,” Custos said, but his words had the cadence of someone trying to convince themselves.
    I dared a glance to see if our acolyte still trailed us. Twenty paces back a figure in white stood behind a cart, the hem of his robe visible beneath. “He’s still there.”
    Custos bit his lip as if I’d given him bad news, and I reached out to give his shoulder a quick squeeze. “That’s a good thing.”
    “I fail to see why having someone following who wants to kill us is to our advantage.”
    I checked the daggers I kept in my boot and behind my back. I had no desire to fight someone whose level of skill was unknown to me, but I might not have the choice. “Because he wouldn’t have had time to report to anyone,” I said.
    Fifteen minutes later we came within sight of the next bridge, this one leading to the largest section of Bunard—the lower merchants’ quarter. Here countless craftsmen, workers, wives, and children lived and plied their trade from their homes. “When we get to the market, we’re going to make a quick turn down the second alley next to Braben’s tavern,” I said quietly. “Stay ahead of me.” I knew the place and the owner well by virtue of my consistent patronage. On either side of Braben’s, narrow winding alleys led from the market street to the river.
    “Are you going to kill him?” Custos asked.
    The job of a reeve sometimes called for violence, and I’d had a share, but it had been nine years and a battlefield since I’d had to plot how to kill a man. The worn leather hilt of my sword, molded to my hand by countless hours of sweat and heat, felt warm against my skin. Even if the fake acolyte following us had managed to hide a sword under his robe, it would be a simple matter to dispose of him.
    Something fierce and dark woke in me at the thought, a hunger that scared me with its ferocity and seduction. I shook my head. “I hope not.”
    We walked past the front of Braben’s and turned down the second alley. Ten paces in I wedged myself into a lip in the wall where the main building, made of wood, met the stone part of the tavern, which housed the kitchen. “Keep walking,” I told Custos. He gave me a wide-eyed nod and continued down the alley. I focused on listening for the approach of the acolyte, and my sword whispered as I drew it from the sheath.
    When his feet appeared, they were closer than I expected. I stepped from my hiding place. “Hold it right—”
    I never finished. I had just enough time to shift the cross-guard of my sword to block a sweeping dagger thrust. Metal clanged against metal, and my attacker stepped in closer. I couldn’t maneuver. His blade came for my middle while our free hands grappled.
    I couldn’t parry. I dropped my sword and jerked to my right, the thrust glancing off my jerkin. Fire cut my side as I caught his wrist, but I’d failed to surprise my attacker and I had no weapon.
    I’d trained in close quarters in the last war. “Surprise and speed,” my instructor had screamed at me day after day.
    The acolyte pushed against me. Instead of resisting, I pulled with him, twisting so that I landed on him as we fell. I brought my elbow up into his face. Blood burst from his nose, and I