Kingshelm (Renegade Druid Cycle Book 1) by George Hatt Read Free Book Online

appeared at first glance to be a dry and overgrown creek bed, but it was too straight and the shapes of the stones were too regular. Barryn traveled parallel to the road, keeping it ten yards from his left until one afternoon he heard rushing water ahead. A 50-foot deep canyon cut through the woods, and the weathered, tumbled remains of an ancient stone bridge frothed the water of the Crone River below. Barryn stopped and slept near the ruins of the bridge until dawn. He did not want to risk the dangerous climb at night.
    Barryn stared at the two moons through a break in the trees—Kyn and Taer. They were waxing bright, Kyn shining white and Taer a bloody red. He wondered if Ashara could withstand their light and protect him this night. He was afraid to ask her, and was loathe to pray to the gods he knew. He descended into another fitful sleep.  
    Barryn spent much of the next day climbing down the steep bank and looking for a safe way to cross the galloping, treacherous river. He scrambled and hopped across the river using the stones and wreckage of the Imperial bridge. Barryn traveled downstream several hundred yards looking for a place where he could begin the climb back out of the canyon on the other side. Instead, he came across an eight-foot length of driftwood that he deftly cut into a fishing spear. Soon, he pulled a fat trout out of the cold water and feasted on it raw. Barryn threw the scraps into the river, washed his hands and continued his search for a way out of the canyon.  
    The boy climbed up the steep bank and found the road on the other side with a few hours to spare before nightfall. He rested until the moons awoke him, then followed the road. Over the next several nights, the road led Barryn out of the forest and he did his best to remain concealed, but the rolling hills provided fewer and fewer stands of trees as he moved farther away from the woods.  
    He traveled for another week down the ancient road before he saw any cultivated lands, but he avoided contact with people and gave the farm houses he found a wide berth. It was becoming far more difficult to stay both hidden and nourished. The land offered fewer edible plants, but—cruelly—far more small game that Barryn could kill but not cook without betraying his position. He got sick of counting the rabbits that he flushed in the evenings when set off on the night’s journey. Hunger was his most dangerous pursuer now, and it was upon him.  
    Barryn stopped to rest one night after an hour’s walk. He wrapped his cloak tightly, intending to let his tired legs regain some strength for just a moment before he continued his trek. He awoke under a bright, clear morning sky with the end of a walking stick poking him in the chest. A fat, bearded man with high boots and rich but shabby clothes was looking down upon him.  
    “Ey, there, lad. Are you alive or dead?” the man asked.  
    Barryn jumped to his feet and turned to flee, but his strength gave out and he fell a yard away from the man.  
    “No need to run, unless you’re afraid of a tinker and his ponies,” the man said, offering Barryn a hand up. “My name is Dub. What brings you out here with nothing but a fine barbarian short bow and tattered cloak?”
    Barryn accepted the man’s hand and stood on quivering legs. He was too weak and hungry to think of a lie, or even a reason to. “My name is Barryn. I have been exiled from my clan.”
    Dub raised his eyebrows when he heard the boy’s deep Caeldrynn accent. “Well, Barryn, you are safe from the pursuing barbarian hordes. We are less than a day’s hard ride from Greystone Keep, and we will soon be in heavily patrolled territory. It’s good that I found you, in fact, before the patrols caught you. They’d have you in irons before you knew what happened, wandering alone with no good explanation for yourself.”  
    Dub rummaged around in his wagon. It looked like a little house on wheels with a curved roof and pots, tools, and