Read Online Before The Mask by Michael Williams - Free Book Online

Something about
     breaking resistance, the path of power, destruction... though he couldn't piece it
     together.
    But the runes were prophetic surely, despite Cerestes' laughter when his promising student
     spoke of their power. For the stones were ancient and venerated, were they not? Only his
     skills were lacking. His father's words, soft at the edge of his revery, confirmed for
     Verminaard that all he believed of rune and augury was true.
    “Verminaard will ride at the head of the hunt,” Daeghrefn announced, rising in the
     stirrups and shielding his eyes as he gazed north across the plain. He scanned the horizon
     to the distant lift of the mountains, where the cloud descended and all paths led across
     Taman Busuk to the mystical, uncharted heart of the Khalkists. “He will ride at the point
     of Nidus's spear, and he will ride alone.”
    That was all. With a sullen silence, his gaze averted, the Lord of Nidus fell in beside
     Robert.
    A fierce joy gripped Verminaard. Fumbling the runes to a pouch at his belt, he vaulted
     into the saddle. The boar
    lance shivered and vibrated in its rest beside his right knee, and he clutched it eagerly.
    Daeghrefn had noticed! He was sure of it. This place at the vanguard was a sign of esteem,
     of Daeghrefn's respect for his bravery and wits.
    Not a season past his twentieth birthday, and he would ride at the front of a veteran army.
    Aglaca, on the other hand, had often heard his father's tales of the centicore hunt. The
     creature was deadly, surprisingly cunning. It led hunters an exhausting chase and then
     turned and charged when the lancers had outpaced the hunting party, when the odds were
     narrowed to one or two tired hunters against a huge, well-armored monster. At East
     Borders, whatever man rode in the vanguard on a centicore hunt did so only after
     bequeathing his belongings to family and friends, saying the Nine Prayers to Pala-dine and
     Mishakal and Kiri-Jolith of the hunt, and singing over himself the time-honored Solamnic
     funeral song.
    Aglaca's eyes narrowed as he watched the jubilant Verminaard tying himself to the saddle,
     bracing his back, trying to hide a boyish grin beneath a mask of feigned calm. Daeghrefn
     knew better than this: He was a skilled huntsman and swordsman, and though a renegade, he
     had not forgotten his Solamnic training in strategy and field command.
    Of all people, Daeghrefn would know ... And he did know. Of course he did.
    “I beg your pardon, sir,” the Solamnic youth ventured. He set his foot to the stirrup of a
     horse readied for him as Daeghrefn turned in the saddle to regard him distantly,
     indifferently. “I would that you might... let me ride with Verminaard.”
    Robert looked nervously at his lord.
    It had to work, Aglaca thought. Regardless of this strange disregard for his son,
     Daeghrefn would not risk Aglaca in a foolish gamble. Were Laca to receive word that his
     son had fallen in the hunt, Abelaard's life would be forfeit to the gebo-naud.
    Aglaca was the best protection Verminaard could have.
    Daeghrefn did not flinch at the boy's request. Directly, his face unreadable, he regarded
     the upstart as though appraising terrain or a suit of tournament armor.
    “Do not forget, Master Aglaca,” the Lord of Nidus replied, his scolding mild and quiet,
     “that you are not as much a guest in our midst as you are . . . captive to an agreement
     between Nidus and East Borders. I cannot let you ride in the vanguard, for you might use
     the occasion to escape. Worse still, you might suffer an injury.”
    “I am twenty, sir,” Aglaca persisted. “Twenty, and skilled with weaponry you, in your
     kindness, have allowed me to practice.”
    “True enough,” Daeghrefn conceded. “Better than your burly lump of a companion, by all
     accounts.”
    Verminaard winced, but his face returned swiftly to its impassive, unreadable mask.
    “As for your misgivings regarding escape, Lord Daeghrefn