Shards of a Broken Crown by Raymond Feist Read Free Book Online Page A

forsaken
wilderness.”
    “As you
are no doubt aware,” began Malar, “there was much trouble
between Kesh and the Kingdom lately, with Shamata for a time being
deeded to the Empire.”
    “So we had
heard,” said Dash.
    “My
master, being of Kingdom allegiance, decided it wise to visit his
holdings in the North, first in Landreth, then Krondor.
    “We were
traveling to Krondor when we encountered the invaders. We were
overtaken and my master and most of his other servants were put to
the sword. I and a few others managed to flee into the hills, south
of here.” He pointed southward with his chin, as he reached
Dash’s horse. Malar reached up and gripped a few hairs from the
horse’s mane, yanking expertly, and came away with several long
strands of hair. The horse moved at the unexpected pressure, snorting
displeasure. Dash reached out and took the reins from the tree branch
where they were tied, and Malar yanked out some more hairs. He
repeated the procedure twice more. “That is sufficient,”
he observed.
    “So you’ve
been in these hills how long?”
    “More than
three months, young sir,” said Malar, as he started deftly
weaving the hair into a braid. “It has been a bitter time. Some
of my companions died from hunger and cold, and two were captured by
a band of men—outlaws or invaders, I do not know which. I have
been alone for all of three weeks or so, I judge.” He sounded
apologetic as he said, “It is difficult to keep track of time.”
    “You’ve
survived in these woods for three weeks with nothing but your bare
hands?” asked Dash.
    Malar started
walking toward the pond, continuing to weave the horse hair. “Yes,
and a terrible thing it has been, sir.”
    “How?”
asked Dash.
    “As a boy
I was raised in the hills above Landreth, to the north of the Vale of
Dreams. Not as hostile a land as this, but still a place where the
unwary can perish easily. My father was a woodsman, who put food on
your table with bow and snare, as well as gold in his pouch from
guiding men through the hills.”
    Dash laughed.
“He guided smugglers.”
    “Perhaps,”
said Malar with a broad shrug. “In any event, while the winters
in the hills near my home are nowhere near as inhospitable as here,
still a man must have skills to survive.”
    Malar moved
slowly as he approached the hole. He glanced skyward to see the angle
of the sun, then moved to face it. “Do not let your shadow
cross the hole,” he instructed.
    Dash and Jimmy
followed behind. The man from the Vale of Dreams slowly knelt and
said, “Fish, I have been taught, see movement, so we must move
ever so slowly.”
    Dash said, “This
I must see.”
    Jimmy nodded.
    Malar said, ‘
“The sun shines through the hole in the ice, and the fish swims
up to feel the warmth.”
    Jimmy looked
over the man’s shoulder and saw a large brook trout lazily
circling the hole. Moving slowly, Malar inserted the noose of
horsehair into the water, behind the fish. The trout ceased moving
for a moment, but Malar resisted the urge to move quickly, instead
inching the snare toward the fish’s tail.
    After another
long minute, the fish darted away, and Malar said, “Another
will come. They see the light and think insects may land upon the
surface.”
    After a silent
five minutes, a trout appeared near the edge of the hole. Dash
couldn’t tell if it was the same fish or a different one. Malar
again started moving the noose slowly and got it around the fish’s
tail. With a jerk, he snared the trout and yanked it out of the hole,
landing it on the ice, where it flopped.
    Dash couldn’t
see the man’s face behind the rags that covered it, but the
crinkles around his eyes showed Malar was smiling. “If one of
you young gentlemen would be so kind as to light a fire, I will catch
some more.”
    Jimmy and Dash
exchanged glances, then Jimmy shrugged. Dash said, “I’ll
get some wood. You find a campsite.”
    They hurried off
while the strange man from the Vale of Dreams