Read Online Exile (Bloodforge Book 1) by Tom Stacey - Free Book Online

was jet black and cropped
like a soldier’s, except this young man was not a soldier. He was, instead,
wholly unremarkable, in a manner that only the young can be, their faces not
yet lined with the unique character etched by worry, hardship and experience.
However, had somebody taken the time to look, they would have noticed the
beginning of such truths. It was in the way he wore his face: subtle tics and
spidery creases in the flesh that spoke of suffering untold and lived with.
Some might even say he had an old face, and they would be right, for though he
was not yet fully grown, he had seen things few would ever have the strength to
comprehend. He was Loster, the second son of Lord Gaston Malix, and he had
watched his brother die.
    Every day, Loster had
lessons at the little wooden building in the town proper. It was unusual for a
noble to be schooled outside the grounds of his father’s hall but Loster had
insisted. He had his reasons. Ever since the death of his brother, Barde, some
years before, the Lady Helin had been impossible to be around. She had
convinced his Lord father to forbid him from swordplay, so while the other boys
practiced with the family weapons master, Jaym, he lifted nothing heavier or
more dangerous than a quill. It was a source of shame for him to watch those
who he must one day lead learn skills he could not. Already several of the boys
had begun to mock him. They were a scant few months into their training yet
they hounded him with jeers and catcalls whenever he passed by, as he must,
every day, on his way from the little wooden building where he learned history
and numbers and respect for the gods, on towards the Great Hall of his father.
    The Great Hall of Elk
was on a hill that overlooked the town below. Elk itself was not large, merely
a simple collection of low wooden buildings and some grander stone
constructions that housed in turn a tavern, a modest Temple Dawn, and a muster
hall for the militia. The town sat in the shade of the Widowpeak, the highest
point in all of Daegermund, and thus had been robbed of every glorious dawn
since the first foundation stone was laid at the foot of the mountain. Loster
dragged his feet as he climbed the winding path to the Great Hall. He always
did when he came near the Lord of Elk.
    Gaston Malix’s hall was
a large, high-ceilinged building of wood and stone. He met his petitioners in
the main hall, and when he was fatigued or simply bored, he retired to the
living quarters: an ugly square monstrosity grafted on to the side of the hall.
The living quarters had a discreet entrance, usually reserved for servants, but
it was there that Loster went, avoiding the surly glances from the two
guardsmen that stood on either side of the great wooden doors of the main
building and stepping into the heat and bustle of the kitchens.
    “That door there, close
it!” came a thick, matronly voice. “Oh, little Lord Loster, I didn’t know it
were you. Kindly shut the door behind you.” The voice took on mocking
politeness, and a large, round woman stepped out of the steam and smoke, and grinned
a black-toothed grin so cold it should have melted. “Finished our book lessons
‘ave we, milord?” Cook’s son, Barik, was already a keen student of Jaym’s and
she could not help but gloat.
    “Yes, done for today,
thank you, Cook.” Cook probably had a real name, but nobody had ever troubled
to learn it. “Is there a cold plate I could take to my room?”
    “Nothing, little Lord.
Yer father’s entertainin’ tonight, so we’re all busy in ‘ere. Besides, the Lady
Helin was askin’ after you. Wouldn’t do to keep ‘er waitin’ til you’ve eaten.”
The fat woman’s tone bordered on insolence, but they both knew he would not say
anything.
    Loster sighed. “Yes,
well I’ll go and see her, then.” He eased around Cook’s bulk — she made
no effort to move — and tried not to breath in the stink of her, nor
touch the greasy, stained apron she wore. He