The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2 by Matt Thomas Read Free Book Online

time had passed when his father returned with split wood in one arm and a Brendar cask of ale in the other. After he had seen to the fire and the hearth was giving off a steady heat, Imrail entered with Avela and a full band of men behind them. They brought covered trays and baskets that were overflowing. By the time they had decked out the table there was hardly any room to eat. He also observed the floor was in need of a thorough wipe down.
    Ivon and Ariel insisted Imrail and Avela join them. Luc did not have the stomach to eat just then, but ran his fork through his plate, choosing to stand. He had been afraid there would be spells of awkwardness. Now he could hardly believe they were here. The three women spoke in hushed tones. Their laughter eased him. Trian fit in with them. He had not worried over it precisely, but at least now he could put his mind to rest. Few questions and no demands. No need to worry over it tomorrow.
    They had plenty enough to worry about as it was.  
    Ivon and Imrail seemed to get on well enough, too. They knew each other, it appeared. Quite well. Luc did not attempt to listen in on their conversation. For now he just soaked in their presence. Only the occasional thought of the Furies impinged on the moment.
    Sometime later, after they had eaten and tidied up, his mother and father turned their thoughts to bed.
    “Best I remain, my Lord Warden,” Imrail said. “The boy and I can pull out some pallets and sleep out here.”
    “That will be fine, Imrail. Sleep in peace and without fear.” The phrase seemed automatic, some expression out of the dim past. Ivon roughly embraced his son before leaving. He startled Trian—and Ariel—by taking the young woman’s hands in his. There was something uncharacteristically accepting in the gesture.
    “He never ceases to amaze me,” his wife whispered. She looked more girlish than he remembered. “Good night, Luc.” She kissed him on the cheek and followed after her husband.
    With the pair once again taking up residence in the room they had shared some years back, the four of them were left to themselves. Somehow it seemed fitting that Imrail and Avela were here. The captain gave him an appraising look before filling two tankards from the short cask, handing one to Luc. Neither spoke.
    “That went well,” Avela said, stretching. She reached for a bottle and filled two stemmed wineglasses. “You should try this. The Acriel’s best brandy, legendary in some parts. A good thing Riven isn’t here. He prizes the stuff.”
    Trian eyed her gratefully. “Yes.” She let out a breath, smoothing the creases in her coat. After a gulp she swallowed and glanced at him. “Well? How did I do?”
    Luc knew he was grinning. “You were perfect.” She was always perfect. “Thank you. And I’m sorry you had to—”
    She waved that aside. “No need to be. It was nothing. They’re your parents, after all. I think your mother and I will get along just fine.” She was beaming. Radiant in the dim light. After another mouthful, she stood. “Best I turn in, too. Don’t let him stay up too late, Captain Imrail.”
    Luc had to grip the tankard to keep from staring as she whisked her way down the hall.
    * * * * *
    He was up at first light. His dreams had been maddening. Creatures of potency and dread in pursuit. He had woken twice. No, more. The first time it was to a thin sliver of moonlight filtering into the sitting room. He caught the outline of his mother wrapped in a plain robe seated on the floor beside him. He had thrown his pallet out in front of the hearth, the embers giving off just a faint glow now. No sign of Imrail. Ariel Viamar’s head was bowed, but there was no mistaking the glint of tears. She was smoothing his hair. Luc could not stand her tears. They brought him to the point of separation. That would serve little purpose here. Not knowing what else to do, he sat up and took hold of her. She made no protest. By the end he was uncertain who