Read Online Forging the Runes by Josepha Sherman - Free Book Online
Authors: Josepha Sherman
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you."
"Envying!"
"Och, Ardagh, you know how things are for noble-born women in this land. I'm not a slave, but I'm not exactly free, either. I've never left the region, my love, let alone travelled to a foreign land. And," she added sharply, "I don't think much of this 'woman patiently waiting for her man to return' role."
"I never saw the point of it, either. In my Realm you could go where you pleased, with no one to say—" He brought himself up short. "But we aren't in my Realm."
Sorcha grinned, a little too sharply for true humor. "What say you? Think you could smuggle me along in your gear? Or maybe I could take a scene from a bard's tale and disguise myself. Think I'd make a convincing boy?"
He had to laugh at that. "Powers be praised, no!"
"Ah well." The not-quite humor faded from her eyes, leaving them bleak. "Then, hate it or not, wait I must. When do you leave?"
"Not till the spring, at least. It's already too late in the year for travel. Besides, as I told the king, I may be a swift learner, but even I need some time to study a new land." He paused, listening to a faint, distant clamor. "Yes," Ardagh continued, "and before we can commit to anything, the king's council must first finish their debate."
To his surprise, Sorcha threw back her head with a genuine burst of laughter. "And here I was worried! That could take years!"
I doubt it, Ardagh thought. But he, bemused anew at the human way of trying to avoid the unavoidable, said nothing. Of course the council would make its decision, and of course it would rule as Aedh wished; they did not often go against the High King's will. Like it or not, the prince knew that he would be leaving this land in the springtime. He must.
But he would, all the Powers grant, return.
A Small Murder
Chapter 6
Muffled in a hooded cloak, runes in a pouch at his waist, Osmod made his unchallenged way through the darkening, nearly empty streets of Uintacaester. Coins slipped to the guards had gotten him easily out of the royal compound (he'd heard their snickers: "Not the first noble to go hunting common fun."). The rune Eolh would protect him from unwanted attention and Ger would see him safely back again.
He glanced about, hunting. If he was to ensure that Worr truly never remembered what had happened back in the forest, this nuisance of a task must be done.
If only everyone's will was as easy to snare as that of Edburga. But then, Beortric's queen half wanted to be snared; an arrogant woman, that, who must always have someone over whom she, the daughter of the late, mighty Offa, could feel safely superior. Beortric, on the other hand . . .
Osmod shook his head. Soft Beortric might be, but he was discouragingly content with himself and his lot: such a will was, in its own complacent way, strong and smooth as stone. Stone could, of course, eventually be shaped, but only so very painfully slowly. Ah, those tales of the sorcerers of lore, able to work their wishes with nothing more than flicks of their will!
He gave a snort of disgust and hurried on. The air was still full of the scents of cooking fires and food, and there was a sudden burst of laughter from this house, a soft snatch of song from that. But the city was definitely settling down for the night; there would be no witnesses.
There, now. That rather ramshackle building in this decidedly less desirable corner of the city was definitely an inn of the common sort. And where there was such an inn, there was prey. First, of course, he had to go through the farce of actually wanting to be in such a place, sitting at a rickety table in the crowded, dark, smelly common room and pretending to be drinking a watery and probably outright unclean horn of ale. Yes, but there was his goal, that young woman: a scrawny, sad-eyed creature, her blond hair braided in what she probably thought a fashionable style, her tunic a worn but still gaudy yellow that branded her for what she was. A pity she didn't have more meat on her,
"Envying!"
"Och, Ardagh, you know how things are for noble-born women in this land. I'm not a slave, but I'm not exactly free, either. I've never left the region, my love, let alone travelled to a foreign land. And," she added sharply, "I don't think much of this 'woman patiently waiting for her man to return' role."
"I never saw the point of it, either. In my Realm you could go where you pleased, with no one to say—" He brought himself up short. "But we aren't in my Realm."
Sorcha grinned, a little too sharply for true humor. "What say you? Think you could smuggle me along in your gear? Or maybe I could take a scene from a bard's tale and disguise myself. Think I'd make a convincing boy?"
He had to laugh at that. "Powers be praised, no!"
"Ah well." The not-quite humor faded from her eyes, leaving them bleak. "Then, hate it or not, wait I must. When do you leave?"
"Not till the spring, at least. It's already too late in the year for travel. Besides, as I told the king, I may be a swift learner, but even I need some time to study a new land." He paused, listening to a faint, distant clamor. "Yes," Ardagh continued, "and before we can commit to anything, the king's council must first finish their debate."
To his surprise, Sorcha threw back her head with a genuine burst of laughter. "And here I was worried! That could take years!"
I doubt it, Ardagh thought. But he, bemused anew at the human way of trying to avoid the unavoidable, said nothing. Of course the council would make its decision, and of course it would rule as Aedh wished; they did not often go against the High King's will. Like it or not, the prince knew that he would be leaving this land in the springtime. He must.
But he would, all the Powers grant, return.
A Small Murder
Chapter 6
Muffled in a hooded cloak, runes in a pouch at his waist, Osmod made his unchallenged way through the darkening, nearly empty streets of Uintacaester. Coins slipped to the guards had gotten him easily out of the royal compound (he'd heard their snickers: "Not the first noble to go hunting common fun."). The rune Eolh would protect him from unwanted attention and Ger would see him safely back again.
He glanced about, hunting. If he was to ensure that Worr truly never remembered what had happened back in the forest, this nuisance of a task must be done.
If only everyone's will was as easy to snare as that of Edburga. But then, Beortric's queen half wanted to be snared; an arrogant woman, that, who must always have someone over whom she, the daughter of the late, mighty Offa, could feel safely superior. Beortric, on the other hand . . .
Osmod shook his head. Soft Beortric might be, but he was discouragingly content with himself and his lot: such a will was, in its own complacent way, strong and smooth as stone. Stone could, of course, eventually be shaped, but only so very painfully slowly. Ah, those tales of the sorcerers of lore, able to work their wishes with nothing more than flicks of their will!
He gave a snort of disgust and hurried on. The air was still full of the scents of cooking fires and food, and there was a sudden burst of laughter from this house, a soft snatch of song from that. But the city was definitely settling down for the night; there would be no witnesses.
There, now. That rather ramshackle building in this decidedly less desirable corner of the city was definitely an inn of the common sort. And where there was such an inn, there was prey. First, of course, he had to go through the farce of actually wanting to be in such a place, sitting at a rickety table in the crowded, dark, smelly common room and pretending to be drinking a watery and probably outright unclean horn of ale. Yes, but there was his goal, that young woman: a scrawny, sad-eyed creature, her blond hair braided in what she probably thought a fashionable style, her tunic a worn but still gaudy yellow that branded her for what she was. A pity she didn't have more meat on her,
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