Furies of Calderon by Jim Butcher Read Free Book Online

something in his surroundings brought an odd kind of pressure to Tavi’s senses. He stopped and let out a short, warning hiss of breath. From a full jog, Bernard abruptly dropped to a crouch, and Tavi instinctively followed suit.

    Bernard looked silently back at Tavi, cocking an eyebrow in a silent question.

    Tavi stayed on all fours and crawled up beside his uncle. He kept his voice to a whisper between panting breaths and said, “Up ahead, in that last stand of trees by the brook. There’s usually a covey of quail there, but I saw them heading along the lane.”

    “You think something spooked them out,” Bernard said He murmured, “Cyprus,” and flicked his right hand toward the trees beside him in a signal to the lesser of his two furies Tavi looked up and saw a shape glide down from one of the trees—vaguely humanoid and no larger than a child. It turned pale green eyes toward Bernard for a moment, crouching down like an animal. Leaves and twigs seemed to writhe together to cover whatever shape lay beneath them. Cyprus tilted its head to one side, focusing on Bernard, and then made a sound like wind rustling through the leaves and vanished into the brush. Tavi was winded from the run and struggled to slow his breathing.

    “What is it?” he whispered.

    Bernard’s eyes slipped out of focus for a moment before he answered. “You were right. Well done, boy. There’s someone hiding near the footbridge. They’ve got a strong fury with them.”

    “Bandits?” Tavi whispered.

    His uncle’s eyes narrowed. “It’s Kord.”

    Tavi frowned. “I thought the other Stead-holders were supposed to be arriving later today. And why would they be hiding in the trees?”

    Bernard grunted, rising. “Let’s go find out.”

    Tavi followed his uncle on down the road Bernard walked with quiet purpose toward the causeway, as if he had every intention of traveling past the hidden men. Then, without warning, he spun to his left, arrow in hand, drew back the bow and loosed a grey-feathered shaft at a clump of bushes and detritus a few paces from the near side of the small, stone footbridge that crossed a murmuring brook.

    Tavi heard a scream, and the leaves and bushes thrashed wildly. A moment later a boy about Tavi’s age emerged from the bushes, one hand clenched upon the seat of his breeches. He had a broad, strong build and a face that would be handsome if it had been less petulant Bittan, of Kord-holt, Kord’s youngest son. “Bloody crows!” the boy howled. “Are you insane?”

    “Bittan?” called Bernard in obviously feigned surprise. “Oh dear, I had no idea that was you back there.”

    From further down the trail, a second young man rose out of hiding— Kord’s eldest son, Aric. He was leaner than his brother, taller, and several years older. He wore his hair pulled back into a tail, and pensive frown lines had already established themselves between his eyebrows. He watched Bernard warily and called, “Bittan? You all right?”

    The boy screamed, furious, “No I’m not all right! I’m shot!”

    Tavi peered at the other boy and muttered to his uncle, “You shot him?”

    “Just grazed him.”

    Tavi grinned. “Maybe you hit him in the brain.”

    Bernard smiled a wolfish smile and said nothing.

    From still further back in the brush, leaves crackled and dead wood snapped. A moment later, Stead-holder Kord emerged from the bracken. He wasn’t terribly tall, but his shoulders seemed too large for him, and his brawny arms looked unnaturally long. Kord wore a patched and faded grey tunic, badly in need of a thorough washing, and heavy gargant-hide leggings. He wore his symbol of office, the heavy chain of a Stead-holder around his neck. The chain was smudged and looked greasy, but Tavi supposed that it made a better match for his unkempt greying hair and patchy beard.

    Kord moved with an aggressive tension, and his eyes were cold with anger. “What the crows do you think you’re doing,