The Sons of Hull by Lindsey Scholl Read Free Book Online Page B

lizard-skin traveling tunic. Except for its expensive clothes, it reminded Vancien of the cheeky creatures swinging from the trees in regions he had read about as a child.
    It spoke again and Vancien jumped to his feet, away from the eerie little beast. But its voice was deep and aristocratic—hardly what one expected.
    “By the Plains, man!” it sounded again, taken aback by the movement. A munkke-trophe, Vancien finally decided: a remarkable breed of primate known for its nomadic tendencies and its ability to comprehend various languages. Slightly ashamed, he held up his hands in submission.
    “Sorry. You scared me.”
    The munkke-trophe was indignant. “I scared you? How do you think I felt, young man, when I rounded this bend here and stumbled upon three fresh graves and a living corpse?”
    “Is this your territory?”
    “This is the path I have chosen, yes.” It stooped to pick up a short cane, which it had dropped when Vancien had so abruptly arisen. “And now, if you will excuse me, I shall be on my way.”
    “No, wait! You asked me if I was in trouble.”
    The munkke-trophe did not stop but called back over his shoulder. “Yes, I did. And I have my answer.”
    The past hours had evaporated Vancien’s good humor. Before he could stop himself, he sent a sharp stone hurling toward the creature. The aim was true and the cane was knocked out of its owner’s hands. A surprised oath accompanied the munkke-trophe to the ground.
    “Well, I say,” it snarled, casting about for its cane and brushing itself off. Vancien stood over it, watching silently.
    “See here, young man, could you give an old ‘trophe a hand up?”
    “Yes, I could.”
    “Well then, by the orbs, do so!” The creature had found its support, but was unable to see for the sand in its eyes. The next few seconds were spent rubbing and blinking with great energy. “What, boy, are you still there?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you just pull that evil trick of knocking out my cane?”
    “I did.”
    “Humph. Just as I thought. Dratted human youths thinking they can run all over other creatures.”
    Vancien could only laugh at its antics, forgetting his anger. He reached down and helped it to its feet.
    “There you are. Can you see all right?”
    “Well enough to see that you are not in any sort of trouble.”
    Vancien sighed as the tragedy came racing back to him. “I am in every sort of trouble. My friends are buried under those mounds, my food and water are spoiled, and I think Kynell has abandoned me.”
    The munkke-trophe gave him a brisk pat on the back. “But you have your health.”
    “A health I would sooner give up to join the others.”
    “Bah! Don’t say that! The Prysm god spared you for a reason.” It eyed Vancien’s torn clothes and bloodied skin. “I assume.”
    “I doubt it. But what of you? What’s your name?”
    “What’s yours?”
    “Vancien pa Hull.”
    “So it is. I am Sirin”
    Vancien extended his hand, which was received by an aging paw. “Well met, Sirin.”
    “Right. Lovely. A pleasure to meet you, Vancien pa Hull.” Then he, for it was a he, turned to go.
    “You’re leaving?”
    “That would be the general idea, yes.”
    The creature was insufferable. “Then you’re a demonic little rodent!”
    This caught Sirin’s attention. His beady crimson eyes narrowed in hostility. “Now see here, young man. I did not pass this way to entertain a human bratling who was foolish enough to get his friends killed. Perhaps it has not crossed your mind that I have important business to attend to? I have no time to dawdle with impertinent youths!” He continued indignantly under his breath. “Demonic! I never—”
    Vancien was not so easily intimidated. “Listen, rodent. You’re a shame to your species if you leave me out here like this without any help at all.”
    “Stop calling me a rodent! I come from a long tradition of noble blood, great heroes, fearless warriors—”
    “And you’re all there is to show