The Call by Michael Grant Read Free Book Online

even archers armed with state-of-the-art bows.
    The castle was expecting trouble.
    Towering above the walls was the keep. The keep was the last resort, a castle-within-a-castle. If enemies breached the outer walls, they then had to start all over again to take the keep.
    From the top of the keep fluttered a black and sky-blue banner. There was some sort of symbol on the banner, but Grimluk couldn’t quite make it out.
    Far below, crouching by the foot of the hill, was a village, a few dozen thatch-roofed buildings.
    â€œLet’s go to the village,” Grimluk said. “Maybe we can sell some milk and get a room for the night.”
    â€œWe don’t have reservations,” Gelidberry pointed out.
    But Grimluk didn’t care because reservations hadn’t yet been invented, let alone Priceline and Expedia and hotels.com. In fact, if there had been any such thing, it would have been called inns.com or even stables.com.
    They reached the edge of the village just as night fell. They parked the cows and carried the namelessbaby into the first inn they found.
    It was crowded with drunken men and a few drunken women. But it was quiet for a room full of drunks. People were more sullen than rowdy. When Grimluk and Gelidberry came in, every eye turned toward them, appraising the tired family.
    â€œHow many in your party?” the innkeeper asked.
    â€œTwo adults, one child,” Grimluk answered.
    â€œWe don’t have a kids’ menu,” the innkeeper warned.
    They elbowed their way to the end of one of the long tables. Grimluk ordered a tankard of mead and three bowls of gruel. It was a Tuesday: gruel night. Grimluk felt a little disappointed. If he’d come on Monday, it would have been fish and chips.
    Across the table sat a burly, older man of perhaps sixteen years. He had a full beard studded with bits of food. Little pig eyes stared out from beneath a scarred, tanned brow. The man had an ax slung over one shoulder. Grimluk fingered his own hatchet and winced to realize that the ax was maybe three times bigger.
    â€œHi,” Grimluk said. “How’s the gruel here?”
    The man made a deep, grumbly sound that mighthave been a sort of restaurant review. Then he said, “You’re a stranger, as am I. Do you come to join up?”
    â€œJoin up?”
    â€œThe Army of Light,” the man said. “They’re hiring. If you have the right stuff.”
    â€œWe have two cows,” Grimluk said. “And this spoon.” He showed the spoon.
    The man laughed, a sound that seemed totally out of place in a room where people were mostly whispering and glancing nervously over their shoulders.
    â€œWe have no need of spoons! Spoons will not defeat the Pale Queen!”
    The whispering came to a very sudden stop. The man winced, clearly embarrassed, as if he’d farted or used an offensive word. ( Soap was one such offensive word.)
    â€œSorry. I meant to say, ‘the Dread Foe.’”
    The people in the room went back to their slurred whispers.
    â€œThis Army of Light,” Gelidberry said, “do they pay well?”
    â€œHey, I’m not looking for a job,” Grimluk protested.
    â€œYou have a family to feed,” Gelidberry snapped. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not doing very well at that.” She pointed at her ribs. “I can count these clear through my clothing.”
    â€œAll right, all right,” Grimluk said. He pointedly turned back to the man, ignoring Gelidberry’s reproachful gaze. “I used to be horse leader to the baron. Now I’m a fleer.”
    â€œEveryone’s a fleer nowadays,” the man snorted. Then he held out a fat-fingered hand. Grimluk shook it.
    â€œMy name is Grimluk.”
    â€œWick,” the man said. “I came to join the Army of Light as a pikeman. I could get you in to see the pike captain.”
    â€œI have no experience with a pike.”
    Wick