The Godling Chronicles (Shadow of the Gods, Book #3) by Brian D. Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

but there was
no backing out now. He knew what would happen to him if he failed.
He pushed the door open wider and ever so slowly stepped silently
into the kitchen. The room was still warm from an earlier meal, and
the air bore the scent of roast meat and bread. Beads of sweat
quickly formed on his brow.
    At the far end of the room was a door that he
assumed led to the dining hall. From there he needed to make his
way to the other end of the house to the sleeping chambers. One of
Starfinder's less-than-loyal servants had given them a good
description of the layout, and he had been over it several times.
Still, there was always the chance that it was inaccurate. He
shifted his knife into his left hand, dried his palm on his
trousers, and took a slow, deep breath.
    He heard movement behind him coming from the
pantry. The coward regained his nerve. He was almost at the kitchen
door when it burst open. A dark figure stood in the doorway, the
glint of steel shining through the darkness. He instinctively
raised his knife. Then there was a thud and sharp pain to the back
of his head. He fell to his knees, his knife falling from his
grasp.
    “ I surrender!” he cried.
    The figure in the doorway stepped forward,
his face still obscure by darkness. “Again.”
    Another blow came from behind; this one sent
him into unconsciousness.

Chapter 5
     
    Millet paced the floor in the main hall while
Dina was seated in a chair by the fire reading calmly. Her
honey-blond hair was pushed back, revealing her delicate features.
Her lips were twisted into a tiny smile, as she fingered through
the pages of a Baltrian comedy. He stopped to look at the two
bound, unconscious men in the corner. Their hoods had been thrown
back from their black cloaks. The tall one was dark-haired and tan,
with long features and narrow-set eyes. The short plump one, had
the look of a true aristocrat. Soft pale skin and well-oiled black
hair. Millet wondered why they would send someone like this to kill
him. Clearly they didn't think the task would be difficult. Barty
was kneeling next to them, a short sword in hand; his son on the
other side holding a thick herding club.
    “ Do you know them?” asked
Millet.
    Barty nodded. “The fat one is called Devon.
The other fellow goes by Sherone. Both are from Baltria, I think.
At least that’s what they sound like when they talk, and Devon does
most of that. He's a bit of a braggart.” He cupped Devon's chin in
his hand. “Goes 'round telling tales of his adventures. Not that
anyone believes a word of it, but he's free with his gold, so no
one seems to mind.”
    “ Do you recognize them?” Dina asked
Millet, without looking up from her book.
    “ No,” he replied. “But it has been many
years since I associated with the nobles of Baltria. These two
don't look to be old enough for me to have known them, when Lee and
I lived there.”
    “ What do you intend to do with them?”
asked Barty.
    Millet's eyes shot to Dina, who gave him a
knowing look.
    “ I cannot ask you or your son to
participate in what is about to happen,” said Millet.
    Barty rose to his feet. His face flushed. “I
see.” He turned to his son. “Go to the Stedding farm.”
    Randson glared at his father defiantly, and
squared his shoulders.
    Barty heaved a sigh. “Not this time, boy.” He
placed his hand on Randson's arm.
    “ I will not leave you,” said Randson.
His voice was deep and powerful.
    Dina looked up with raised eyebrows,
realizing this was the first time she had heard Randson speak.
    Barty looked at Millet then back to his son.
“If Lord Millet is going to do what I think he's going to do, then
I will not have you a part of this.”
    “ And if you think I am blind to what
these people are up to, then you think me stupid,” said Randson.
“They have practically enslaved Sharpstone. People are afraid to
speak against the faithful out of fear they'll lose all they own.
They curse the Gods openly, and mock those who refuse to do