Duality by Renee Wildes Read Free Book Online Page B

next. Lady, welcome Your daughter home. May her next life be kinder for the sacrifice made in this one.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she touched the torch to her own mattress. Flames enfolded Mag’s body in the Goddess’ arms.
    She wiped them away; ’twas past the time for tears. Now was the time for action. She turned from the stench of burning flesh to the rocking chair, hesitating. Rufus had made that chair and Fanny had sewn the cushions, embroidered with dyed silk thread from far south. Moira had gifted the thread to her for curing a toothache. She shook her head and squared her shoulders. She grabbed the fine lace tablecloth and stuffed it into her bedroll. Setting flames to her rocking chair, she tossed the burning brand into the far corner afore striding into the woods with Rufus’ weapons, Fanny’s medicine bags and Sheena’s tablecloth. The flickering light from Mag’s funeral pyre followed her for a long time.
    Her skin twitched. The sense of being stalked grew in the back of her mind. The dark servants of Jalad, combing the countryside for Xavier and Mag, congregated at what was left of her home. Malice hounded her as she wove through the trees.
    A howl sounded behind her, then another. Deep. Canine. Savage. The voices merged into a chorus of predatory intent. She knew what pursued her. She’d heard of a new breed of hunting dog, created by crossing bear-baiters on wolf-hunting coursers. The result was a giant, implacable trailer with courser speed and baiter bloodlust. Perfect for following and dispatching prey, be it four-legged…or two.
    So focused was she on the vicious hunters behind her the malevolent shadows shimmering on the edges of her consciousness faded into insignificance. When a shout sounded to her right, she started in surprise. A movement to her left was all the warning she got afore something hard struck her head and the world went black.

 Chapter Four
     
    “Open yer eyes, wench. I know ye hear me.”
    Dara first noticed wet leaves and a crushed mushroom smeared beneath her cheek. A pipeweed smoker’s raspy voice accompanied rough hands shaking her. The man’s apparently lifelong aversion to bathing stung her nose and overwhelmed the loamy scent of autumn decay. A night owl hooted from a branch somewhere above.
    Dara kept her eyes shut and concentrated on the pounding in her head as the man yanked her to her feet. Whatever struck her had broken no bones, but her head would ache for days. She was unmistakably in enemy hands: gagged, bound, barefoot. She couldn’t feel her medicine bags or weapons.
    She cocked her head and shifted her weight. Her spirits sank. Mag’s amulet was missing. They’d found the blade tucked into the underside of her braid. They’d found the other hidden blade too. One she’d been sure no one would ever find.
    Death afore dishonor.
    Her chance for escape was slim. She’d not run far on bare feet. Her worst nightmare had come true. Lady, grant me strength. Each hour she resisted put Loren and Xavier that much farther away. The kingdom was worth her life. Don’t let me give them away.
    A leather-covered open palm cracked across her cheek and snapped her head around. She opened her eyes and glared at her captor. She focused on Westmarche black and red, squinty eyes and a leering grin that showed missing and rotting teeth.
    Throaty growls distracted her from the human to the real menace—three hellhounds leashed by a second man. Dara stared at the legendary beasts with horrified fascination. Each was the size of a yearling calf, half-again as long as it was tall, with coarse grey fur, a long bristly tail, pricked wolf ears, mad yellow eyes and a square undershot jaw with oversized fangs.
    Her eyes narrowed and she growled back. The dogs whined and retreated a pace.
    Dog Handler cleared his throat. He was younger, taller and marginally cleaner than the first, with a few more teeth. “Ye’re a prisoner o’ King Jalad, th’ new lord o’ Riverhead