Sword of Hemlock (Lords of Syon Saga Book 1) by Jordan MacLean Read Free Book Online Page A

daughter.
    Suddenly, she shrieked. But the scream she uttered was less
of anguish than of pure terror, and the old nun stumbled backward, away from
the body.  Her mouth moved in a babble of prayers and her hands worked
frantically until she stood with her back against the castle wall, flattened as
if she would press her way right through it. 
    Renda stepped back, trying to understand.
    Nara was warding against some evil presence.  She was
calling upon B’radik’s most powerful protections, and not for herself—for the
whole of Castle Brannagh.  But why? 
    Renda looked back, seeing the still form of her niece on the
ground, the equally unmoving forms of her father and Gikka, both of whom stood
watching Nara in alarm.  Certainly the cold darkness of the clearing had
lingered on Renda’s soul during the journey back to the castle, but she did not
feel that now except as a memory.  What did Nara see here? 
    Then Renda saw something else that frightened her more than
any evil Nara might see:  B’radik was not answering the nun’s pleas.
    “Nara?”  Renda took a step toward her, but at the sound of
her voice, Nara only grew more desperate.  She turned, screaming in terror, and
clawed at the castle wall until her fingers left streaks of blood.  A few
moments later, her energy spent, she dropped to the ground.  By the time Renda
reached her side, the glow of the nun’s habit had faded until it was nearly
gone. 
    “You,” shouted Gikka to the two stablemen who had come to
take the horses.  “Run, fetch a priest from the temple for Nara, and one of
power, mind.  Quick, quick!  Take our horses, go!”  At that, the two men leaped
into the saddles and kicked the horses into a full gallop toward the temple.
    Renda lifted Nara and carried her just inside the castle
doors, followed by a pair of the sheriff’s knights.  At once, the men gave up
their fur cloaks, one that Nara might lie upon it, the other to cover the old
woman and keep her warm.  She still breathed, though barely, and her eyes were
rolling wildly under half-opened lids.
    Renda held Nara’s cold hand to warm it in her own, and she
brushed her other hand over the woman’s bare scalp, fingering the thin even
veil of white hair that spilled down from just above Nara’s ears.  The tips of
Nara’s fingers had been shredded and deeply bruised against the stone, and
thick dark blood oozed and welled.  Renda shut her eyes and whispered prayers
for Nara and for Pegrine, shutting out the haunting images of the little girl’s
face and the slimy black ribbons of blood that they had had to pull from her in
the clearing.
    “B’radik...”  Nara’s lips were dry, and her voice was faint. 
“Darkness.  No light...”
    “Hush, Nara,” soothed the knight.  “All will be well.”
    “Darkness rises and smothers light, ill-fed on dragon’s
blood...”
    Renda frowned and stroked Nara’s hair gently.  “Dragon’s
blood,” she repeated softly.  The dragon was the emblem of the House of
Damerien.  She could only mean Damerien blood, Brannagh blood, her own.  Renda
swallowed hard.  Pegrine’s blood.  Dear B’radik, what had happened to Pegrine? 
What did Nara see?
    “Darkness, oh, darkness upon us!  The prophecy...”
    “Prophecy?”  Renda looked down at the nun’s face.  “What
prophecy?” 
    But upon having uttered that single word, Nara fell
unconscious beneath the knight’s hand, as if someone would not let her answer.
    Some time later, Renda looked up to see two priests from the
hospice, both young and not yet glowing with all the power of B’radik, running
through the doorway to Nara’s side.  Renda’s heart sank.  Surely if Nara could
not command the power of B’radik, these two would fail.  But as they prayed and
dripped a few drops of healing oil onto Nara’s lips, the glow of her habit
seemed to brighten just a little—an encouraging sign.  Renda stood and backed
away, letting the two priests