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

work.
    “Renda.”  The voice was Gikka’s, coming from just outside
the door.  When Renda joined her, they walked outside toward where their
lathered horses, just returned from the hospice, stood waiting.
    Renda looked toward her father and paused.  Left to himself,
the sheriff had nothing to take his thoughts from the dark shape on the ground
before him.  After a time, he breathed out, and his body shuddered slightly,
ever so slightly. 
    Gikka followed Renda’s gaze.  “He’s older by ten years this
hour, weak and weary with his grief.”
    Her heart ached for him, ached for his anguish, but she
could not allow herself to share in it.   She had purged the pain from her
heart, at least for now.  As she had learned from the war, mourning the dead
could wait.
    “Has he any insight?”
    Her squire nodded, collecting her thoughts.  “Two Wirthing
knights come calling yesterday asking to stay the tenday.”
    Renda rubbed her eyes.  “Yes, I saw them, but I cannot see
how…”
    “Hear me,” Gikka said, lowering her voice though no one was
nearby.  “When Matow went to ask their help in the search, they were gone.  No
leave taken, yet of horses, of clothing, of armor, nothing remains of them. 
The boot prints I saw in the glade…It could only be these very men.”
    Renda thought a moment, then shook her head.  “Knights,
especially Wirthing knights, allied to Brannagh for a thousand years, would
never do such a thing.”
    “Not actual knights, Renda.  Thieves and worse.  Two dead
men Jadin found at the river, as would be the real Wirthing knights.  These
others come posing in Wirthing colors, no doubt with other intention, but they
see the child, lead her away and…”
    It still made no sense.  What brigand would trouble himself
to attack Wirthing’s knights, disguise himself to make entry at Brannagh, then
take and kill a highborn child when there was surely more profit in ransom?
    Gikka seemed to follow her thought.  “Killing her that way,
they have to know we’d come after, so there’s more behind this than simple
coin. Something more remains to be found, something touching on why she died
that way.  Something we don’t know.”  She looked out at the dark road.  “But
we’ll not find it here.”
    “No,” Renda breathed.  She moved toward Alandro.
    “Something else you should know,” Gikka said, catching her
arm.  “Your father…Renda, I’ve not seen him so dark and cold, not even when
Roquandor fell, begging your pardon.”
    “Aye, and with good reason,” Renda looked down at where
Gikka held her arm. 
    “He made clear to me that he does not want them brought back
to his dungeons for trial.”
    Renda’s gaze met hers.
    “No room for knightish nonsense and justice in this.  It will
be an ugly business, not worthy to stain your honor by.”  When she saw that
Renda understood, she released her arm and made her own way toward Zinion. 
“You’ve no need to go; I can see to these myself.”  She nodded toward the sad
progression of knights and servants that followed Pegrine’s tiny makeshift bier
into the castle behind the sheriff.  “The family’ll be expecting you to sit the
vigil.”
    Renda smiled grimly.  “I split the verinara leaf, Gikka. 
You know my mind.”  She swung herself up into her saddle and nodded once to her
father. “My duty to Pegrine’s spirit is greater than my duty to her flesh.  And
I cannot simply sit.  If the House of Brannagh needs vengeance, we should have
courage enough to see to it ourselves.”  She sighed, patting her horse’s neck. 
“Come, we lose the night.  Are you sure you know where to find them?”
     
     

Three
    Farras
    T he
younger one stood unsteadily against the table and scrutinized her face, the
curves of her slight figure, just as he had when he approached her at the bar.  She
had planned what he would see, what would draw him to her: sun-darkened olive
skin, dark brown hair, a familiar something about