Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) by Karissa Laurel Read Free Book Online

of urgency in my
chest. Gideon’s eyes bugged and he gasped.
    “Told you it would work,” I said.
    Gespenst had sensed correctly. At the crest of a short rise,
about two-hundred yards ahead, Terrill and his men waited on agitated horses,
the beasts reacting to their master’s excitement and anticipation. The men drew
their weapons, crossbows as well as rifles. Terrill, at the head, shouted for
us to halt.
    Low and under his breath, Gideon issued the command to run. I
shoved my heel into Nonnie’s flank. She lunged and took off racing. Wind tore
at her mane and at my cloak, but it stayed in place and kept me hidden. The men
responded with astonished yelps at the sight of an unattended horse charging
toward them.
    “Where’s the girl?” Terrill yelled. Nonnie’s fast approach
upset the men’s horses, and they skittered out of her way, acting against their
master’s commands. I squeezed past the group, and they paid me no mind. The men
had focused, as we had hoped, on the threatening figure drawing his crossbow
behind me.
    Even over the wind rushing past my ears and the hammering of
my heart, I heard the thwack of Gideon’s weapon as it released a bolt.
Moments later, Sephonie’s victim cried out, a terrible howl. The return fire
from the men’s rifles sounded like a pack of ravenous dogs. I didn’t look back
to see who had received Gideon’s deathly tidings. He would have to give me the
details later in the safety of The Silver Goose’s private rooms.
    I unbuttoned my cloak as soon as Nonnie and I rode out of
view. Fear drove me, while duty and obedience kept her legs pumping over the
rutted and muddy road. We left the path from time to time to avoid the
sloppiest, hoof sucking sections, and I hoped the journey wouldn’t abuse her
too much. At Fallstaff, Gideon had made me groom Nonnie, but he had her shod
along with the rest of Fallstaff’s horses, and I didn’t know the last time she
had seen the farrier.
    Nonnie and I eventually slowed to a walk. The days of solid
travel and poor sleep had dwindled our energy reserves. It might have been only
our third morning on the road, but we were accustomed to casual romps around
the estate, typically undertaking our adventures on full bellies and returning at
night to plush sleeping arrangements.
    I would have given my eyeteeth to have the treatment formerly
given to my beautiful mare in our stables: a soft bed of clean hay and a solid,
dry roof. Even a bag of oats sounded good. With hot water I could have made
porridge—bland but filling. The rabbits from yesterday’s breakfast were long
gone, and I regretted not asking for a piece of Gideon’s jerky.
    We rode throughout the morning without a sign of Gideon. How
long should it take an expert archer to dispatch a small band of men? Only
at that thought did I consider how Gideon might have come to possess such
skills. His station as horse master required no mastery of lethal abilities.
Distracted in my musings, I had allowed Nonnie to tug us off the path toward a
stream. I dismounted and knelt to fill my water jugs, but my body moved
automatically while my mind puzzled the mysteries of my father’s horse master,
but too many pieces were missing to make a complete picture.
    The caws from a passing flock of crows startled me from my musing.
I climbed on Nonnie’s back, and we started off again. For the rest of the
journey to Thropshire, I anticipated the pounding hooves of Gespenst catching
up to us. Any horse racing after me could have belonged to my enemy, as well,
but I refused to humor that possibility—it was too frightening.
    I only realized I had spurred my horse into a trot when the
saddle bumped and jostled against my sore rear end. After adjusting my seat, I
maintained our pace until we crested a final hill. When I spotted the sprawling
village of Thropshire in the valley below, I leaned forward, shifting into a
posture meant for a faster gait but checked myself before I nudged Nonnie into
a gallop.