Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles by Nat Russo Read Free Book Online Page A

That’s all. I swear it.”
    “That’s all?”
    “That’s all. I’m going to walk straight into that crowd, buy a drink and a meal, and be on my way. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
    Just let me walk into the crowd, old man.
    “Well you keep in mind, ale rod— ”
    “Aelron—”
    “…that I’ll tolerate no chicanery, subterfuge, or churlish behavior. I was appointed by the local ranger captain hisself. If I catch wind of any furtiveness, skullduggery, or devious machinations, I’ll bring the full force of the Shandarian Justice Protocols down on you like a blacksmith’s anvil!”
    “I think you mean hammer , friend.”
    “I said no chicanery!”
    Damned inbred farmer .
    “I do apologize,” Aelron said. “It’ll never happen again. Tell me, though. What village is this?”
    The constable squinted as if he didn’t understand the question.
    “Where am I?” Aelron asked.
    “You okay, mate? This is Blackwood.” A note of pride entered the constable’s voice, and he straightened his back. “Twenty-seventh largest village in the Shandarian Union. Says so right on the sign.”
    “You have a sign?” Aelron must have missed it. He was getting sloppy. First, an old man crept up on him, and now he was missing signs.
    “Did one of those quakes shake your brain loose, man? Of course we have a sign! In case you weren’t listening, we’re the twenty-seventh largest village in the Union. It’s a wooden sign. We even have wooden buildings, for Arin’s sake! Wouldn’t be much of a village without a sign, now would it?”
    Why is he going on about wood ?
    “How far outside of Dyr Agul are we?” Aelron asked.
    “That’s a different festering country.”
    “How far?”
    The constable looked toward the east, through the village center.
    “Well, I don’t know,” the constable said. “Nearest city is Caspardis. About seventy miles southeast, along the road you skulked in on. Now get your meal and skulk on out the other side of Blackwood.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    “And you just remember—”
    “No chicanery . I know.”
    “Or devious machinations! One whiff of duplicity or surreptitiousness and I’ll—”
    “Bring down the anvil. I remember.”
    “I’m watching you, ale rod !”
    Aelron shook his head and went over to an outer tent. He memorized the layout of the village center as he went, the same way a Shrillers and Adda player memorizes the position of pieces on the board before his opponent’s turn to hide them.
    Three paces between tents. Four paces to the canopy. Fifty paces and I can be out of the village.
    A drunk stumbled out of a long tent next to Aelron, spilling his tankard on the muddy ground.
    Aelron pulled the tent flap aside and stepped inside.
    The ground under the tent was mostly dry, save for footprints, so they must have pitched it before the storms. Four rough-hewn wooden tables and benches ran parallel along the length of the tent, ending near several kegs of ale beneath the bar at the far side. Patrons sat shoulder to shoulder on the benches, eating roasted meats and drinking ale. The one exception was a bench on the far left side of the tent. Only a skinny drunk and a dwarf in patchwork robes sat at that bench.
    The atmosphere was noisy, filled with laughter and song, and the smoke from a large cooking grill created a layer of haze at the ceiling of the tent that escaped through screened vents along the pitched center. Water collected in muddy pools under the vents, however, as the pelting rain gained entry. Men exited with haste through a flap in the right side of the tent, then returned at a relaxed pace. The ground near that flap was muddy. It must lead outside to a privy.
    Five paces to the barkeep. That skinny drunk next to the dwarf in patchwork robes is hiding a dagger at his back. Not very well, either. I can take it easily if I need it.
    Aelron made the short journey to the bar, trying to stay aware of the skinny drunk, in case he decided to