The Gods of Amyrantha by Jennifer Fallon Read Free Book Online

Spymaster had only been slightly offset by the news that he was also their friend Shalimar's grandson.
    Warlock had been even more disturbed to discover that while their relationship seemed to be common knowledge in the slums, rumour also had it the two men hadn't exchanged a civil word in years. Shalimar, according to the gossips, wasn't at all pleased that his grandson had chosen a life which put him at odds with most of the people he'd grown up with and once thought of as his friends.
    Warlock was fairly certain that was not the case, given Shalimar was the one who'd brought them to this ramshackle inn. It was here, on the orders of Declan Hawkes, they were waiting to meet the next — and as yet unknown — person in the unexpected chain of humans who seemed to be a part of this secret underground movement set up to help Lebec's dispossessed Crasii.
    'Stop pacing.'
    His tail lashing impatiently, Warlock turned to look at Boots who was sitting opposite Shalimar at the
    rough table set under the eaves of Clyden's Inn. She was finishing off her second bowl of the inn's surprisingly tasty stew, enjoying the bright summer sunshine. Shalimar sat opposite her, leaning back against wall, his hat pulled down over his eyes, apparently asleep.
    'I can't help it,' he told her.
    'Try,' she suggested. 'You're driving me crazy.'
    'I don't know how you can sit there stuffing your face as if there's nothing going on.'
    'You're too used to knowing where your next meal is coming from, Farm Dog,' she replied through a mouthful of half-chewed meat. 'Otherwise you wouldn't need an explanation.'
    'I wish you'd stop calling me Farm Dog.'
    'Then stop acting like one.'
    Warlock stared at her, trying to recall what he'd seen in this young female that had resulted in their savage mating in the alley outside the Kennel. He'd not been able to get enough of her back then. Deep down, he understood it was instinct. He knew when the heat was on her, there was nothing he or any other male could do to resist it. The Boots he'd come to know since then, however, was prickly, impatient and dismissive of many of the customs and traditions that, for Warlock, defined their very natures as Crasii. The timing of their mating made him wonder about something else, too. Although she showed no signs of being with pup yet, it might be too early to tell. She was certainly eating as if she had more than one belly to fill. Would she still treat him so impatiently if he'd fathered a litter on her?
    'Someone's coming.'
    It was Shalimar who spoke, although he hadn't moved or even raised his head.
    'How can you tell?' Boots asked.
    The old man sat up stiffly and pushed back his wide-brimmed, woven hat. 'I can feel it in the wall.'
    As he was speaking, Warlock's sharp canine hearing picked up the sound of cantering hooves. They slowed before they became audible to less-gifted ears and by the time the newcomers came into sight along the western arm of the narrow crossroads, Boots, Shalimar and Warlock were on their feet and the horsemen were approaching at a steady trot.
    A few moments later the three human riders reined in and dismounted. The man in the lead was a dark-haired, not unpleasant looking man in his mid-thirties. His cloak was expensive, his riding gloves made of the finest kid, and he wore the kind of arrogant look Warlock had long ago learned to associate with Glaeba's ruling class.
    The man stepped forward, his gaze sending a shiver of apprehension down Warlock's spine. Had they been betrayed, after all? Was this man here not to help them, but enslave them again? Warlock glanced around, wondering if he could outrun the henchmen accompanying this arrogant-looking nobleman, who were, he was sure, here only to make certain the Crasii didn't cause trouble.
    Shalimar stepped up to greet the nobleman. His expression softened and he smiled, transforming his whole countenance. 'You beat me here, old man. What did you do? Fly?'
    Shalimar shook the younger man's hand warmly.