Foretellers (The Ydron Saga Book 3) by Raymond Bolton Read Free Book Online Page A

the hour,” then turned to regard Roanna and her escort, cocking her head as they approached.
    “Voreth’s horns, Sergeant! What in the name of all things holy is that?” she asked, pointing at Roanna.
    “Pardon, Ma’am,” one of the escorts responded. “Armus asked us to bring her here. She’s supposed to replace Ana.”
    “Is she now? And when did that husband of mine think I am going to have time to break in a newcomer?”
    “I don’t know, Ma’am. He just said… ”
    The woman raised a hand to halt his explanation and shook her head.
    “That’s all right,” she said, sighing deeply.
    She looked Roanna up and down, scowling as if this were the worst piece of news she had been given all day.
    “What’s your name, girl?”
    Roanna straightened and looked her in the eyes.
    “I’m no girl. My name is Roanna.”
    “Are you talking back to me?” the woman demanded, glowering from beneath bushy brows.
    “No. It’s just that… ”
    “You’d better not be. The war’s coming down on us and I need to pack and get my things out of here before those bastards from Limast make leaving impossible. Now, either you step quickly and make yourself useful, or I’ll have the sergeant here take you straight back to my husband. Is that clear?”
    “Yes,” said Roanna. “I believe it is.”
    “You sure don’t look like much,” the woman muttered, half to herself. “Simo!” she called.
    The man dressed in the satins of an overseer turned to look.
    “Yes, Maryam.”
    “Show this… ” She scowled at Roanna. “ …girl what needs to be done.”
    “Yes, Maryam,” Simo replied.
    The woman turned back to Roanna and said, “Don’t stretch my patience. You go with Simo and do what he says. If you do a good job, I’ll figure out what to do with you in the morning.”

7
    By the time Maryam’s goods were packed and the party was ready, a wind had arisen. By the time it had become light enough to extinguish their torches, they were leaning into a gale. Even that did little to quell the woman’s tirades as she shouted instructions to the overseers and servants.
    Roanna winced as a sudden sharp pain tore through the back of her head. She could do nothing for it. She was shielding her eyes with one arm and gripping the reins of a reluctant pack mule with the other as she struggled to force it to keep pace with the convoy. This was the second time on her journey she was grateful to be wearing leather. Her oreth hide clothing protected all but her face from the bits of debris the wind hurled. Her arm warded off most of that while the leather retained enough body heat to keep her from shivering.
    Maryam was not so fortunate. Perched on the seat of the lead cart with the layers of her dress, petticoats, several blouses and scarves, two topcoats and a shawl flapping madly, she shrieked at each new discomfort, gesticulating with both arms and feet, making Roanna grin at the mini-storm of red, blue, white and orange in which this woman had cocooned herself.
    “Sylene!” Maryam called.
    A servant girl, who had been following on foot, ran to catch up.
    “Yes, Ma’am?” she said, squinting against the dust.
    Like Roanna, she raised one hand to protect her face while the other one struggled to clutch her coat closely about her.
    “I’m thirsty. Bring me a water skin,” Maryam shouted above the tumult.
    “Yes, Ma’am,” the girl called back.
    When she returned, she held the sack aloft, trying to face her mistress despite how she flinched against the barrage of flying motes.
    “Are you making me reach for it?”
    “No, Ma’am,” Sylene replied, her eyes widening in distress at the error.
    Slinging the bag’s strap across her shoulder, she struggled to climb aboard, almost falling when one of the wheels struck a pothole. To her credit, she managed to hang on. As the servant girl clung valiantly to the edge of the seat, Maryam slaked her thirst. Then, without so much as a look or word of thanks, she handed the