The Faerion by Jim Greenfield Read Free Book Online Page A

work with a spade, his crown tilted to one side. Tuors were extremely partial to their vegetables and each gardener had their own secrets that they shared with no one outside their families. Gardening secrets were passed on as part of their family legacy and wealth.
    Culver tried to regain the comfortable feelings he got watching the morning activities in Whitehall, but he could feel her eyes on him. The sorceress watched him and when he remembered Elise was still sleeping, he felt the eyes more.
    He had dreamed of adventure, it was true, yet when adventure waited for him in his own home, it was quite different. He wanted adventure to wait for him outside and when he was ready he would go to it, and finished, he would return to his sitting room. He could not push aside the fear of Baron Treteste's knights riding into Paglo. He knew the Tuors would perish in a battle with an army of Men. He worried for Elise. She brought such happiness to his life, more than he deserved and he developed an irrational fear that it wasn't going to last. This fear hounded him in the cold hours just before dawn.
    The main livelihoods of the Tuors were their gardens of course, and the colorful cloth found nowhere else. Excellent weavers, they sold their wares throughout Anavar. They did not sell directly to Calendia or Wierland. A trader came in the spring and fall, purchasing all that they had made and he spread their industry throughout the land, even as far as Mordyn.
    Culver smiled. Elise was one of the best weavers in Paglo and enjoyed the respect of all Tuors. To say that he was surprised that a Tuor with such status gave her heart to him would not be adequate. She did, and many in Paglo wondered at that. Elise seemed levelheaded, so aware of what went on around her, not at all like Culver, the poet. The only poet in Paglo, Culver was the first one in over a hundred years. They thought his poetry pleasant but not as a way of living. Culver sold his poetry to the trader who had made Culver's name popular among the nobility of Calendia. The Daerlan were very appreciative of his talents. Still, his work was considered eccentric; not a practical effort for a Tuor. It was Elise's attentions that brought acceptance to Culver, not that he would have noticed.
    Culver watched as the baker rapped on windows, to sell his fresh bread and pastries. He did not wait for his customers to come to him. The shutters were opening; the carts of produce rolled out to the street. The smell of bread awoke the hunger inside him.
    "Culver? What are you doing out here so early?"
    "Good morning, Elise. I couldn't sleep. I talked to Wynne for a while. Guess she couldn't sleep either."
    "Well, she's sleeping now."
    "Hm."
    "What are you thinking?" asked Elise.
     
    "Morning light, a breath of life,
    give but a moment
    to end my strife.
    Whisper of breeze, caress my face,
    I hold tight to
    this endless grace
    Boundless love, forever my heart,
    cannot withhold
    my greatest desire"
    "For me?" asked Elise.
    "Always."
    "Truly? I wasn't sure. Wynne had captured your fancy."
    "Fancy is not my heart. Fancy is whimsical, twittering, gone in a moment. You are eternal in my heart. But I worry for you. I believe the Baron Treteste, or king, whatever he is, will try to find Wynne. What happens if his knights reach Paglo? Can we fight Men? Only the Border Guards are trained soldiers. I certainly am not, and we are so few."
    "If such a dire thing comes to pass we shall hide. The knights would not find us. But I think you have a dark view. These things won't happen, surely."
    "I am sorry to disagree," said Wynne, from the doorway. "Treteste is obsessed with the Faerion and believes I spirited it away."
    "Do you have it?" asked Elise.
    "Elise! She already said she didn't."
    Wynne paused, thinking. Then she answered Elise.
    "No, I do not. But I shall speak no further of this until I meet with your king. I am in no position to idly put your lives in jeopardy."
    "Only the king can do that,"