The Southern Trail (Book 4) by Jeffrey Quyle Read Free Book Online

hug.  “You won this battle for us.  When you defeated their strongest sorcerer and placed your men up on the Acropolis, you broke their spirit,” she told him.  She tightened her hug upon him for two long seconds, then released him.
    “Have a seat, my son,” she pointed to a chair, then studied him further once he sat down.  Her voice had a poignant tone.
    “What is it, Lady?” Marco asked, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
    “Does Mitment have anything she wishes to tell me?” Iasco asked.
    Marco looked over at the spirit.  “Things have been easier than expected since the war began,” she responded as she shook her head.
    Marco looked up at Iasco and grinned.  “She said she’s delighted to be reunited with me; my presence makes all the difference to her.  She’s happier now.”
    “How could you say that?” Mitment screeched.
    “I expected that would be her reaction,” Iasco said calmly.
    “Lura,” Iasco turned to the other guard who remained in the room.  “I want you to go find a dead soldier from Docleatae, and bring him back to me.  He needs to be just a little larger than Marco, and I want his uniform.  Oh, and he should have a complexion as close to Marco’s coloring as you can find.  Would you go fetch one, please?” Iasco told the girl, whose eyebrows shot up at the request, before she silently left the room and disappeared into the crowd in the street outside.
    “What is a dead soldier going to do?” Marco asked.
    Iasco walked over to Marco, and placed her fingertips on his temples, as he looked up at her.
    “You are going to go to sleep now, Marco,” she said softly.  “Your eyes are going to close, and you are going to breathe slowly, as you fall asleep.”
    Marco felt a tingle in his scalp, and his eyes closed, as he reacted to the powerful suggestion that Iasco implanted.
    Mitment stared in surprise, and stepped closer to watch.
    “Marco, when you wake up, you will be a prisoner from the army of Docleatae, captured on the north side of town; you will remember nothing of your life in the Lion City or Barcelon, or any place else you’ve been in the past year.  You will be with the other soldiers who are prisoners being returned to Docleatae; you will speak their language as your own.  You are to make sure that you can return to Foulata, the capital of the king.  Find a way to get there.
    “You are a poor country boy from a village in Rurita, who joined the army to give your family money.  You were injured in the battle and don’t remember anything, Golden Hand,” she explained.
    “But once you get to Foulata, if you hear my voice call your name, you will remember everything, and you will know what to do,” she finished, and removed her fingers from his head.
    “What are you doing to him, my lady?” Mitment softly asked, wishing that she could make herself heard by Iasco.
    Iasco stood still, looking down at Marco, shaking her head slowly from time to time, before she left him and walked to the window, where she looked out, wiped tears from her eyes, and stared into space until her guards returned an hour later, one of them hauling a dead body over her shoulder.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
    “Strip the uniform off him, and give me your sword,” Iasco said in a flat tone to Lura.  The woman immediately removed her blade from her scabbard and handed it to Iasco without comment, then knelt by the dead man and methodically stripped off his uniform.
    “Let me see the body,” Iasco said, then made the guards gasp as she lifted the dead man’s right arm and methodically sliced the flesh just above the wrist.
    “You don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” Iasco told the women.
    “What, what are you doing, my lady?” one of them timidly asked.
    Iasco nimbly flipped the blade about and made a series of incisions.  She put the sword down, then covered the carved flesh with her own hands.  There was a low hum, and a dim glow, then Iasco