The Wanderer by Cherry; Wilder, Katya Reimann Read Free Book Online Page A

the hall. There he stood, and all who beheld him in this hour believed this was truly a Godson, come to avenge the Rift Lords and their families.
    So Yorath Duaring—for that was this Nilson’s true name—matched broadswords with Huarik the Boar, and they were both mighty warriors: Huarik more experienced and crafty, Yorath with a greater reach, fresh and unafraid. So it was that they fought and marked each other with small wounds and at the last Huarik slipped in the spilt blood of his victims. He came to one knee, there, right on that spot; Yorath did what must be done. He swung a perfect blow; he struck off the head of Huarik the Boar, denying Old Ghanor the success of his treachery even as the Rift Lords’ families cried out and called arms against their king, and a new battle, a new round of Mel’Nir’s saddest and greatest war, had opened.
    Hearing this tale, none of the listening recruits could remain unmoved. Gael caught her breath; she felt the power of that moment, she looked up to the tall broken railing over which Yorath had leapt, now so many years past. Jehane, beside her on the settle, pressed her arm, sharing the excitement. As they listened to the end, Gael was in a dream between past and present … she thought of course of her own liege … and Knaar of Val’Nur was instantly set free to clasp the hand of his brother in arms. Gael thought wistfully of this lord as he was now, as she had seen him walking before the fortress at Hackestell two weeks past, and wondered if that unbent old man yet yearned for the fiery honor days of his young manhood.
    The followers of the Boar? Some were killed, taken hostage—they had lost all. Huarik’s secret muster, hidden underground, were veterans of the Chameln war, Ghanor’s men,
returned from defeat in the Adderneck, already half in disgrace. Now, in a last stirring scene, they turned their allegiance to Yorath. He accepted their pledges, formed in that instant a Free Company to serve Val’Nur and protect the Rift from the troops of the Eastmark. He became Yorath the Wolf, the greatest ally of Westmark’s lord. The rest—the rest was a history Gael and the others had already heard many times over.
    As the Green Muster straggled out into the afternoon sunshine, the young men were fierce, with mock fights, flourishing their staves and practice swords. Gael Maddoc saw her chance and approached Druda Strawn as he sat alone on a stone bench in the center of the deserted town. She sat down without asking leave and began to question him about what had taken place in Hackestell.
    “Druda,” she asked, “how could it come to such a pass—the Lord Knaar attacked in this way? If we had not been at that very part of the way …”
    “You have put your finger on it, Gael Maddoc,” replied the priest. “It was a grave error, a failure in the planning of the parade. Oh, of course—it was a peaceful occasion, close to a strongly garrisoned fortress of Val’Nur—but the Eagles were too far ahead and the Sword Lilies out of sight at the bend. Guards and escort kedran are there to do just that—guard the lord and his family!”
    “We heard no more,” she said. “We were hustled away to the maidservants’ quarters. Druda, what is known of these rebellious folk, the Black Sheep … ?”
    Druda Strawn sighed deeply.
    “I know little of them,” he said, “but I will try to learn more. It is almost certain that the two men came to attack the lord because farms they had, far away west of Krail, were flooded to make a dam.”
    “Oh,” said Gael. “What then was the talk of Lien, that Hem Duro spoke of so soft and quiet?”
    “Yes,” said the Druda, “that is indeed talk for quiet tones. Though in Coombe we are so far to the south, it can be hoped that little will come of it. Do you remember the matter I spoke of the other night?”
    “About Prince Matten, and his mother’s intention that he
should join the Brown Men’s order?” The young men had found it a