The King of the Vile by David Dalglish Read Free Book Online Page A

“Killing handfuls of the creatures? Saving scattered villages? We’re like flies biting at the side of a horse.”
    “What else are we to do?” Jessilynn asked.
    The elf turned her way, and the intensity in his eyes was frightening.
    “You said two wolf-men led this horde.”
    “Moonslayer and Manfeaster,” she said. “I killed Moonslayer during my escape.”
    “Then Manfeaster must die, and soon,” Dieredon said. “We retreat from the vile beasts’ numbers when instead we should be racing right into their heart. With their leader dead, all cooperation between the races dies with him.”
    “Then you shouldn’t have sent Sonowin away, because how are we to make it through the hordes of monsters between Manfeaster and us?”
    “My skills in stealth are more than sufficient,” Dieredon said.
    Jessilynn winced against a sudden pain in her skull. “Yes, yours are. I on the other hand...” She fell silent, and when the elf said nothing, she sighed. “I’m holding you back, aren’t I, Dieredon? Just go. This is too important, so leave me and take down Manfeaster on your own.”
    Dieredon stared at her across the fire, and it seemed his hard visage softened.
    “I’m not leaving you,” he said. “And never suggest I do so again.”
    The elf wrapped his own blanket about himself and lay down beside the fire with his back to her. Jessilynn stared at him, feeling strangely guilty.
    He may never leave me, she thought, but it doesn’t mean I’m not holding him back.
    As the headache assaulted her, she gritted her teeth and reflected on her first attempt to heal herself. She’d expected it to fail, thought such an injury clearly beyond her power. But why did she still consider herself so limited? By the mere touch of her bowstring, she could summon Ashhur’s presence in the form of an arrow. She wasn’t some little girl. She wasn’t a helpless trainee.
    Putting her fingers back to her forehead, she closed her eyes, once more falling into prayer. This time she didn’t meekly request healing, nor doubt its granting. This time, she demanded it.
    You are with me, she prayed silently. Through your power, banish this pain. Your power, not mine, and so it shall always be.
    She heard the ringing of distant bells. When she opened her eyes, the light of the fire did not hurt her, and the aching waves of the headache were already receding. Jessilynn smiled as she lay down to sleep for the night. Her hand reached out, touching the long blade of Darius’s sword.
    “Not forgotten,” she whispered, repeating the words the deceased paladin had spoken in her time of need. “Not abandoned, not unloved.”

    Her fingers brushed across the steel, fingertips leaving an afterimage of shimmering blue light, that glow calming her heart and allowing her to sleep.

 
     
    4

    A s King Henley’s honored guest, Qurrah could have slept in the enormous tent at the heart of the camp, but instead he preferred the far outskirts beside the Corinth River, where the people were few and the soft flow of the water and the chirp of the crickets could drown out the human noises. Neither him nor Tessanna had been comfortable with crowds all their lives, and since gaining their labels as the Betrayer and the Bride, solitude had grown all the more alluring. They had no tent, only a large padded bedroll and a shared blanket.
    “They march for war soon,” Tessanna said, sitting up and staring at the distant campfires of thousands of men.
    “I know,” Qurrah whispered.
    “Harruq will fight them when they do.”
    Qurrah sighed. “I know.”
    Her hand wrapped around his, and he turned to look upon her. She was pale, thin, her long dark hair a shroud falling down around her hunched, diminutive form. Her face was turned away from him, staring at the army. Qurrah didn’t need to see her expression to know she was worried. But it wasn’t the army that troubled her, he knew that. It was the frightful future.
    “My days of fighting Harruq are