Child of a Dead God by Barb Hendee, J. C. Hendee Read Free Book Online

exposed. “Gleannéohkân’thva, your grandfather, sent me the day after you left. He said you planned to return home, and that I was invited—so you could continue my training! I came so that we might travel together.”

    Sgäile’s brief peace shattered. For one thing, he was no longer going home, and for the rest . . . Truly, he intended to help Osha, but he had never thought of formally accepting the young man as a student. That was impossible.

    As an anmaglâhk, Osha had shown himself to be . . . adequate.

    Competent with a bow and sufficient in hand-to-hand, his stealth was poor. His ability with foreign languages was questionable, and he was far too open and trusting.

    “I cannot go home,” Sgäile said quietly. “I continue guardianship of Léshil and his companions, and leave tomorrow to travel with them by sea.”

    Osha’s grin vanished.

    Clearly he had thought that an invitation to winter with Sgäile’s family was a prelude to something more. It pained Sgäile to add to Osha’s many disappointments, but he had more important matters at hand.

    Osha reached up his sleeves and jerked both of his stilettos free.

    Sgäile slid back out of reach, apprehension rising.

    Osha spun the blades, gripping them with blades pointed earthward. Before Sgäile could protest, Osha fell to his knees and slammed both blades into the forest floor. Sgäile’s heart dropped in his chest.

    The young anmaglâhk placed both hands flat on the sandy earth and bowed his head.

    “Sgäilsheilleache, I beg the honor . . . ,” Osha began softly, but his voice shook with desperation. “I beg acceptance into your tutelage. Be my guide to achieve my place among our caste.”

    Sgäile had no wish to further harm Osha, who acted properly but presumed too much. It was far too soon for Osha to make such a request. But Sgäile faltered before he could utter his denial.

    Had that time already passed? Had he somehow given the impression that he would consider such a relationship? Was this his fault? And if he now refused, what would become of Osha?

    Sgäile took a step, and each following one grew heavier under the weight Osha had thrown upon him. He reached down, gripped the hilts of Osha’s blades, and pulled them from the earth.

    Without a seasoned anmaglâhk as teacher to complete Osha’s training— and one with exceptional patience—the young man had no future. Initiates fresh from rudimentary training and of lesser years had sought and gained a formal teacher, but Osha had not.

    Osha remained still, waiting with head bowed.

    Sgäile suppressed a sigh. “Will you follow my teaching, until your need is fulfilled?”

    “I swear,” Osha answered.

    “Will you heed my word and my way, until our bond is fulfilled?”

    “I swear.”

    “And upon that night, when you step into silence and shadow among our caste, what purpose will my effort in you have attained?”

    “I will serve the defense of our people and the honor of the Anmaglâhk.”

    Sgäile flipped both blades, catching their tips. As he held out the stilettos, Osha lifted his head.

    Osha’s large wide eyes filled with relief, but his hands shook as they closed on the offered hilts.

    “It is a great privilege,” he whispered, and stood up, unsteady on his feet.

    At Sgäile’s silence, Osha bowed once, turning toward the city. Sgäile fell in beside his one and only student.

    Something struck Chane’s leg hard, jerking him awake. He lay by the hearth in the monastery’s entryway, and Welstiel stood over him.

    “Time to feed them . . . ,” Welstiel said. “Just a morsel to fight over.”

    Chane did not like the sound of this.

    “Search the front passage,” Welstiel ordered, heading for the stairs. “We need something to bind any resistant candidates.”

    Still groggy from dormancy, Chane watched Welstiel disappear above. He snatched a burning stick from the hearth for light and walked down the front passage.

    Small storage rooms lined