Read Online And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) by Bruce Blake - Free Book Online Page A

headed past the outpost’s main entrance, leading them toward the stables. Trenan took up after him but didn’t look back for Dansil to follow; more than a good chunk of him hoped he’d stay behind.
    “Renner,” the commander called over his shoulder. “Gather a tent and bedrolls for these men. Jinton, load saddle bags with all the rations they’ll hold, but don’t use the good wine. We don’t need the swordmaster and his friend wandering the wilds of the kingdom getting drunk and disorderly.”
    “Dansil,” Trenan’s companion corrected.
    For a moment, the master swordsman considered pointing out they were not friends, but he let the opportunity pass.
    They crossed the dusty yard to a squat building with a thatched roof, its double doors thrown wide. Though the interior was dim, Trenan made out the familiar outline of stalls, men moving back and forth; the whickering of horses floated across the open air to his ears. The sight of it flooded him with memories of long days spent swamping out the stalls when he first found his way into the king’s militia. To this day, the sickly-sweet aromas of manure and hay cast his thoughts back to this place.
    The smell struck him full force as they crossed the threshold into the stables’ shadowed interior. Silvius headed down the line of stalls without pausing until he reached the far end.
    “You can take these two,” he said as he gestured for a stable hand to retrieve saddles and equipment for the horses. “They’re not the best of the crop, but they’re a damn sight better than walking. Or riding a jackass.”
    Though I’ll be riding with a jackass.
    “I’ll take that one,” Dansil said, indicating the more hardy of the two steeds.
    Silvius glanced from the queen’s guard to Trenan and lifted an eyebrow. “I figured that one for your superior officer.”
    Dansil snorted at the commander’s words and Trenan watched his friend’s face harden. He redirected his attention toward the queen’s guard and readied to take a step toward him and call him to task for his insubordination. The master swordsman stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
    “That one looks better suited for carrying a fellow Dansil’s size,” Trenan said. The words tasted of bile, but no point in reprimanding the queen’s guard now, not when they’d be forced to spend time in each other’s company.
    Silvius glanced back to his old friend, a surprised expression creasing his forehead. The swordmaster shook his head minutely, letting the commander know not to worry. The portly soldier stared at him for a moment before nodding once.
    “Fine, then. They’ll be saddled and ready in no time. For now, come with me to the mess and we’ll get a meal into you before you go.”
    Silvius pushed past Dansil without looking into the man’s face; Trenan followed, but saw the wide grin curving across the queen’s guard’s lips, the deviousness flickering in his eyes.
    He wondered if they’d both survive long enough to find the princess.

VII Thorn—Carried Away
    The odor of gray clay filled Thorn’s nostrils as his cheek pressed against the cold substance and his arms dangled down the giant’s back. Normally, such an aroma brought him joy, indicative as it was of the great cliffs beside the sea being in near proximity. Thorn enjoyed sitting on the edge of those cliffs, staring out across the wide ocean and wondering what it would be like to ride upon one of the ships he sometimes saw. But the scent meant something different this time: the clay man carried him away from the cliffs, away from his home and his friend, Horace Seaman.
    He let himself hang limp over the golem’s shoulder, eyes closed and breath steady as he tried to reclaim the magic he’d spent when the golem laid a finger on Horace Seaman’s chest. Thorn wasn’t sure why he’d known the touch meant death for his companion; perhaps the power told him, but he was unsure—he wasn’t used to how it worked on this side of the