The Faerion by Jim Greenfield Read Free Book Online

Wynne."
    "Culver. I'm Culver."
    "It's a pleasure to meet you. What is your mate's name?"
    "Mate?"
    Wynne laughed. She had the same effect on human males and felt delighted to know it transcended species. It felt good to laugh again. Still the memory of her lack of laughter in recent days sobered her again.
    "The female in your chambers? Do you know her?"
    "Oh, Elise. Yes, Elise. Very fine, very nice. Takes good care of me."
    "Good. I am glad for you Culver. Not everyone has someone to care for them."
    "How did you come to be here?" asked Culver. "You stumbled out of the woods."
    "Yes. I ran from the Baron He killed King Yeates. Killed him in cold blood." Her mind recalled the image clearly. Treteste laughed at the sight of Yeates' head rolling on the ground." She debated whether to speak the entire truth.
    "Yeates had surrendered and handed the crown and scepter to Treteste to protect the rest of us in the castle from further harm. Treteste motioned with his hand and a knight beheaded the king, blood sprayed the Baron but he merely chuckled. The king's head was raised on a pike and his body thrown into the courtyard where it still rots, by the Baron's command. Then he sent his soldiers to bring out all the people of the castle and his soldiers questioned everyone. The Baron tried to be diplomatic, for after all, they are now his subjects, but the thinly veiled threat of death did go unnoticed. He wanted the Faerion that was clear, and asked each one about it.
    "Are they searching for you?" asked Culver, suddenly alarmed. The Baron's soldiers might ride into Paglo looking for Wynne.
    "Yes, I imagine they are. Treteste is a vengeful man." Her eyes found a distant image, tears welling up inside.
    "Did they hurt you?" asked Culver.
    She shook her head. "They tried. Oh, how they tried, but I shielded my mind from them and they couldn't touch it. I swore never to use my power to kill and it proved difficult to keep that promise. Also, the Faerion's presence in the castle hindered my power. It pressed down upon me, suffocating my power. Even the simplest spell pained me. I could not completely cloak myself in shadow. I encountered difficulty eluding the guards."
    "But your wounds?"
    "Just flesh wounds. I was able to complete a couple spells to keep them off me but I took a beating. I wasn't raped if that is what you wondered, but I did see other women who's luck was not as good as mine. Let's not speak of that. Ever."
    Culver waited several minutes.
    "What shall we speak of?"
    "I like the forests. I did not get a chance to enjoy your forests because of my haste and injuries. I have loved the trees since I was a child and do not know what calls me."
    "The trees have solitude about them. They do not let the passing of days bother them. Rather, they become time; they do not pass through it." He suddenly realized Wynne stared at him. He fell silent.
    "What is your calling, Culver? How do you live?"
    "I am a poet, the only one in Paglo."
    "Ah, I thought I heard your name in Nantitet. Your poems are read there. I'm afraid there is only a small audience in Nantitet, but it is devoted."
    "I am pleased. My poems are not popular here."
    "That is a sad thing. A poem is a glimpse of the heart. A shimmering brightness in the night darkness. Everyone should read them aloud under the boughs of a tree."
    "I think you are a poet, Wynne. I could listen to you all day."
    "Thank you, kind host," Wynne laughed. "I seldom hear such kind words. I am a useful nuisance in Nantitet."
     
    Although his house found seclusion under the shade of the oak trees near the edge of town, Culver could sit on his porch and watch most of the activities in Whitehall. It was the larger of the two Tuor settlements and where King Ian made his home. Other than the crown on his head, there was little to set the king apart from other Tuors. Culver could see the palace, a house twice the size of Culver's. In the front yard, there was a vegetable garden with the gardener hard at