Fall of a Kingdom (The Farsala Trilogy) by Hilari Bell Read Free Book Online Page B

hoofbeats from the field had concealed the sound of their approach.
    It was Markhan who’d spoken. They were the commander’s aides too, younger than Jiaan was. Second sons set in service to another house, but true born. They’d been fouled out of the match early in the round: Fasal, only fifteen, because he’d been knocked from his horse by a much older and heavier man; Markhan, because he’d lost his sword and then had thrown all three of his lances, the idiot. He’d scored all three points on the man who’d disarmed him, but his opponent was still on the field, and he was here on the sidelines.
    Both of them, and their horses, were covered with dust. Jiaan felt a stab of pure envy. “What’s going on?” He scrambled to his feet. “This is the third time today someone’s tripped me or tried to ride over me.”
    And that was unusual. The commander’s other aides knew what Jiaan was—no more their equal than the peasant-born foot soldiers and archers, some of whom were probably their own half brothers or cousins. But they usually restricted their resentment to hard words, at least in situations where they might be caught at it. The commander had made it clear that he expected his aides to treat Jiaan with the respect due his military rank, regardless of his birth.
    Jiaan had returned late last night. It had taken several days to take the farm family the commander had chosen to their destination, but the commander insisted Jiaan escort them himself. The fewer who knew where the lady Soraya was to be hidden, the better.
    From the moment Soraya arrived in the city, the other aides had been jockeying for position like a band of cocks with one hen, but this morning all their animosity seemed to be focused on Jiaan. Why?
    The crowd yelled, and Fasal’s and Markhan’s faces swiveled toward the match. Jiaan looked too, but Fasal’s horse was in front of him. He swore under his breath.
    The two turned their horses and rode off, ignoring him with the arrogant indifference that deghans seemed to learn with their first steps. Ordinarily, Jiaan accepted it. But this morning he was watching the most hard-fought flags-and-lances match he’d ever seen. He could have ridden, have fought, as well as any of them. But support troops weren’t allowed on the field. Only full-blood deghans could compete.
    Half a dozen running strides brought him up to his fellow aides. He grabbed Fasal’s reins just above the bit, bringing his horse to a halt.
    “I want to know what’s going on,” he repeated. He tried to sound polite, or at least reasonable, but he didn’t think he succeeded.
    “Get your dung-covered, peasant’s hands off my horse.” Fasal spoke through gritted teeth, his face flushed with anger.
    Jiaan was so startled, he almost let go. What in Azura’s name is this about? But he was half deghan himself, and his rank in the army was equal to theirs. The commander had decreed it. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
    Fasal’s horse stamped as his legs tightened, and Jiaan gripped the reins more firmly.
    “I said, take your hands off my horse.”
    “No,” said Jiaan. Was this what it felt like to have the djinn of rage possess you? No wonder the lady Soraya succumbed so often.
    Fasal’s breath hissed. He snatched the short quirt that hung from his saddle, whipped it up, and paused.
    Markhan’s grin faded abruptly. Jiaan was just as surprised. Flags-and-lances riders were required to carry a quirt, but to use it on a horse was the mark of an unskilled rider—a shame no one would accept. There was no shame in using it on a servant, but if Fasal left a mark on Jiaan, they were all going to have to explain it to the commander.
    Anger warred with uncertainty in Fasal’s dark, young face, but he couldn’t lower the quirt without yielding. Yielding to a half-blood bastard.
    Ordinarily, Jiaan would have let go. For all his pride that the commander had advanced him so far beyond the rank to which he had been