The Seventh Friend (Book 1) by Tim Stead Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tim Stead
vain, selfish, ambitious, even cruel. I would not wish to live in the greatest estate ruled by such passions. You are the best of them all. You are the one that I love.”
Quin was speechless. He had never seen himself in that way, as a hero, battling against odds. To him it had been simple. He was crippled. His choice was to waste his life in misery or to make the best of what he had. Even that small decision had taken years.
“So it is a yes?” he said.
She laughed again and slapped his hand. “Yes, Quin, yes. It is a yes. Ask my father.”
This was the best day of his life; the best since his father had placed him upon his great war-horse, aged only nine years, placed him there ahead of his brother. He felt the same warm flush of happiness, but this time there would be no fall, no disaster. She loved him, and his joy was complete.
5 . Wolfguard
Narak could not chase the doubts from his mind. Each time that he tried to relax the same questions returned to trouble him, and in his dreams he saw the green and black banners of Seth Yarra rising still above the burning ships at Afael. He was once again the bloodstained god, standing in the sanguine streets above the gutted harbour.
He feared Seth Yarra. In that last battle they had feared him, but still they had run at his flashing blades again and again, only to be ripped apart. They had run at him when his aspect was upon him, when he strode the city as a god. It was a kind of madness produced by the warring of twin terrors within the head. The truth of it was that they had feared Seth Yarra more than they feared him.
He had suffered a sleepless night after speaking with Passerina. What few moments he had surrendered to dreams had been poor reward for the hours spent seeking them, and the dreams were more disturbing than his waking thoughts. He rose early and called for his breakfast, which was brought to him in the lair. He ate unenthusiastically, and when the dishes were cleared away he sat and brooded for most of the morning.
“Poor!” It was nearly midday when he summoned his steward.
“Deus, what is your wish?”
“Who is here, Poor? Who is in Wolfguard?”
The steward reeled off a list of names. They were all trusted, all his own. Most had served him before the war and shared centuries with him. He knew their characters, their abilities as well as he knew the balance of his twin blades.
“Good,” he said. “Send Narala and Perlaine. I will see them in an hour. Tell them they are to go on a journey on my behalf, and have them pack for the kingdoms. They will be going south.”
He sat and thought through his plan again. Narala he would send south through Telas, down to the Green Isles. She had many friends there, and properties. It would not be at all unusual for her to travel that way. Perlaine would go south along the Dragon’s Back, cross through the pass they called the green road, and follow the Erinor River south, staying at villages along the way. She was Berashi, but spoke the Avilian languages fluently, and would pass well enough as one of them. She was fair and pale skinned. They would not think twice to question her presence. The two of them would take their time, stop in many places, listen to gossip, sound out the unusual and the curious.
He would also travel. It was simpler for him. Already there were wolves moving down from the forest at his bidding, making their way to the green road. He did not doubt that they would be given free and respectful passage by the Berashi guardsmen who held the gate. From there they would approach Bas Erinor by a direct route somewhat ahead of Perlaine. He would meet her there, or at least send wolves to meet her and join her when she was found.
It was the Duke that he wished to see. Four hundred years ago Narak had been close to the keeper of the city of gods, but time and death had made him something of a dilettante friend to mortal men. He
Quin was speechless. He had never seen himself in that way, as a hero, battling against odds. To him it had been simple. He was crippled. His choice was to waste his life in misery or to make the best of what he had. Even that small decision had taken years.
“So it is a yes?” he said.
She laughed again and slapped his hand. “Yes, Quin, yes. It is a yes. Ask my father.”
This was the best day of his life; the best since his father had placed him upon his great war-horse, aged only nine years, placed him there ahead of his brother. He felt the same warm flush of happiness, but this time there would be no fall, no disaster. She loved him, and his joy was complete.
5 . Wolfguard
Narak could not chase the doubts from his mind. Each time that he tried to relax the same questions returned to trouble him, and in his dreams he saw the green and black banners of Seth Yarra rising still above the burning ships at Afael. He was once again the bloodstained god, standing in the sanguine streets above the gutted harbour.
He feared Seth Yarra. In that last battle they had feared him, but still they had run at his flashing blades again and again, only to be ripped apart. They had run at him when his aspect was upon him, when he strode the city as a god. It was a kind of madness produced by the warring of twin terrors within the head. The truth of it was that they had feared Seth Yarra more than they feared him.
He had suffered a sleepless night after speaking with Passerina. What few moments he had surrendered to dreams had been poor reward for the hours spent seeking them, and the dreams were more disturbing than his waking thoughts. He rose early and called for his breakfast, which was brought to him in the lair. He ate unenthusiastically, and when the dishes were cleared away he sat and brooded for most of the morning.
“Poor!” It was nearly midday when he summoned his steward.
“Deus, what is your wish?”
“Who is here, Poor? Who is in Wolfguard?”
The steward reeled off a list of names. They were all trusted, all his own. Most had served him before the war and shared centuries with him. He knew their characters, their abilities as well as he knew the balance of his twin blades.
“Good,” he said. “Send Narala and Perlaine. I will see them in an hour. Tell them they are to go on a journey on my behalf, and have them pack for the kingdoms. They will be going south.”
He sat and thought through his plan again. Narala he would send south through Telas, down to the Green Isles. She had many friends there, and properties. It would not be at all unusual for her to travel that way. Perlaine would go south along the Dragon’s Back, cross through the pass they called the green road, and follow the Erinor River south, staying at villages along the way. She was Berashi, but spoke the Avilian languages fluently, and would pass well enough as one of them. She was fair and pale skinned. They would not think twice to question her presence. The two of them would take their time, stop in many places, listen to gossip, sound out the unusual and the curious.
He would also travel. It was simpler for him. Already there were wolves moving down from the forest at his bidding, making their way to the green road. He did not doubt that they would be given free and respectful passage by the Berashi guardsmen who held the gate. From there they would approach Bas Erinor by a direct route somewhat ahead of Perlaine. He would meet her there, or at least send wolves to meet her and join her when she was found.
It was the Duke that he wished to see. Four hundred years ago Narak had been close to the keeper of the city of gods, but time and death had made him something of a dilettante friend to mortal men. He
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