The Sons of Hull by Lindsey Scholl Read Free Book Online

had begun to fear Rhyvelad was running out of young prodigies. Do you think this is possible, young man?”
    “No, sir.”
    “What is your name?”
    There was no reason to conceal his identity; his home was a town many, many leagues from Lascombe and his name a common one. “Corfe, Patronius . ”
    Telenar leaned back, studying the figure before him at his leisure. “When were you born?”
    “I am nineteen cycles, sir.”
    “That’s not what I asked, young Corfe. I asked when you were born.”
    So this was how the interview would be conducted—trick questions, double-sided answers. Well, this was something to which Corfe was accustomed.
    “That would be 1,601 cycles of the Corruption, sir. I celebrated the day of my birth four days ago.”
    “And you are well-versed in Kynellian and Rhyveladian history, I presume?”
    “All of my life.”
    “Let’s talk about this Corruption, then, when Zyreio planted his tongue in the Plains of Jasimor and so corrupted all of Rhyvelad.”
    “What would you like to know?”
    Telenar leaned forward, his watery gray eyes intent. “Can you tell me what was the chief of these corruptions that have stained Rhyvelad’s great mantle?”
    It took a moment for Corfe to recall his lessons and as he produced the answer, his palms began to sweat. “You are referring to deceit, Patronius.”
    “Very good, young Corfe. Indeed, I think you know this lesson so well that you are not only aware of the chief stain, but practice it on a regular basis.”
    Corfe started at the sudden accusation. “But—”
    Telenar shook his head. “Do not waste your time on protests. I knew your colors from the moment you walked in the door. The only reason I have kept you is to ask you this: who sent you?”
    Corfe swallowed. None of the training had prepared him for this, but he suspected that revealing his employer’s identity would be a fatal disclosure. Telenar noticed his panic and guessed accurately the cause of it. Rising, he stepped around his desk and seated himself beside the young imposter. His tone was compassionate.
    “Are you so terrified of Zyreio’s servant that you would gamble the wrath of Kynell?”
    No response. Telenar raised his hands. “I would expel you as an impostor, only I can guess the price of failure from such a master. You should stay here, where you will be safe.”
    The gentle suggestion jerked Corfe into action. He rose hastily, knocking over his chair, then stumbled toward the door. It was bad enough that he had failed. All the worse if the Dark One found him hiding under the wings of a priest.
    __________
    They seemed to walk for an eternity. Corfe was not bound by chains, nor did he have any intention of escaping. To attempt it would be to foreshorten a life already ending. Not a word was spoken and the prisoner was told nothing of their destination.
    The night around them was bitter. The cold winds off the sea seemed intent on attending their every step. Corfe wrapped his heavy jacket tighter around him, looked appealingly at the stars, and shivered. Never was there a lonelier time than late breach season night. The whole world seemed waiting to die in its embrace, forsaking all that was living and beautiful for snow and ice. Well, at least this would be the last bitter night he would know.
    The man seemed to know his thoughts. “You are expecting death.”
    Chafing his cold hands, Corfe nodded. “Yes.”
    Still looking forward, the man continued. “Why are you expecting to die?”
    “I have failed you and then I tried to escape you. Everyone knows you have no mercy.”
    If Corfe had been watching, he would have seen the man smile. His voice, however, showed no change. “You are right. I show no mercy.”
    They continued walking, the captor lost in his thoughts and the captive kicking himself for not playing his cards a little better for his last conversation. They were, by now, far outside of the small town and walking perilously close to the coastal bluffs.