Shadow’s Lure by Jon Sprunk Read Free Book Online Page B

the others were rising now, too. The farmers bent over their table as if minding their own business, except for one. Older than the rest, he was downright ancient, with a full white beard that hung down to his navel. Of them all, only he dared to raise his head and watch.
    One of the soldiers grabbed the cloaked man’s arm and yanked him to a halt. “Where you off to?”
    The other trooper snatched back the hood to reveal a youthful face with a hawkish nose, topped by a mop of unruly black hair. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen or eighteen. The soldiers grinned at each other.
    “What’s this?” the first asked. “He looks a little young to be out wandering without his mother.”
    The cloaked youth looked away, but said nothing. By this time, the big soldier had come over. Still holding his mug, he grabbed the boy by the hair and forced his head back.
    “You with the army, boy?”
    The first soldier poked the youth in the kidney. “Speak up, boy. We’re talking to you.”
    The big soldier threw back the boy’s cloak and whistled as he reached down. He drew out a sword and held it up. It was a northern short sword called a spatha, with a straight blade and a narrow guard. This one had a bronze hilt and a dull steel blade that showed the dents of a blacksmith’s hammer.
    “You better be explaining yourself,” the big soldier said.
    The officer came over. “What have you got, Sergeant?”
    The sergeant dropped the sword to the floor where it rattled with a hollow clang. “A deserter is my guess.”
    “Is that true? Are you a deserter from His Grace’s army?”
    “Leave him be!” the oldster sitting at the table yelled. “He ain’t harming nobody.”
    The officer gestured, and the other three soldiers hauled the farmers to their feet and shoved them against the wall. The old man protested, and was cuffed across the mouth, which only made him curse them more roundly.
    “Shut him up!” the sergeant shouted. “Or tickle his ribs with something sharp.”
    One of the soldiers drew a dagger from his belt.
    Caim sat back in his chair, feeling the ache of his wounds. This was going bad, fast. He thought the soldiers would just give the youth a hard time, but the mention of desertion had changed his mind. He didn’t know Eregothic law, but a man could get hanged for that in Nimea. And most of the executions were summary judgments on the spot. But this wasn’t his problem. He could remain here in the shadows, with luck pass undetected, and be on his way. But what would Josey say? Would she tell him he’d done the right thing? In his imagination he saw the disappointment in her eyes.
    All right , Kit . Where are you ?
    The officer reached over and pulled aside the collar of the young man’s shirt. A filigree of knotted blue lines was tattooed on the boy’s shoulder in the shape of three circles bound through the center by a fourth. Caim didn’t know what that signified, but the sergeant pounced on the boy all of a sudden, yanking his arms behind his back, while the other soldiers drew their swords. One farmer turned around, and was slugged in the face with a steel pommel. He dropped to the floor, blood streaming from a mouthful of broken teeth. The old man cursed at their oppressors. Caim reached behind his back. He had seen enough.
    As the troopers herded the boy toward the door, Caim stood up. His leg burned like red-hot hooks were shredding the flesh. He drew his left-hand suete knife. Every head turned as he slammed its point into the wooden tabletop.
    “Let him go.”
    A soldier with a drawn infantry sword started toward him. Caim turned the ruined side of his face toward the firelight. The soldier drew up quick. Not quite what you expected to see in this backwoods inn , eh ?
    The sergeant hollered, “Yanig! Stop ogling the bastard and put him up against the wall.”
    The soldier took another step. That was all Caim needed. He jerked the suete free from its wooden prison. The soldier gasped and