Read Online Gonji: The Soul Within the Steel: The Deathwind Trilogy, Book Two by T. C. Rypel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T. C. Rypel
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between Gonji and Flavio and began sniffing at the samurai’s swords.
“ Damn you, mangy cur!” Gonji grated in his throat, shooing the animal away in not altogether dignified fashion. “Lift your leg on my swords and someone will be feasting on your carcass tonight!”
When his companions’ laughter had subsided, he reestablished his lost harmony and rubbed his reddening face. But he couldn’t help laughing himself and was pleased to see that he had lifted them from their timid sipping. Removing his daisho —his matched set of swords—from his obi , Gonji set them at his right side against the bench seat. He ran his hands under the slack left in the sash by their removal.
“Now I’ve got room,” he said, sniffing deeply with eyes closed at the tempting whiffs of meaty aroma seeping from the kitchens. “Looks like no monsters were invited tonight, anyway,” he added.
The others’ snickers subsided quickly, their memory of the cretin giant still poignant.
“Wonder who’s going to be seated at our table,” Gonji thought aloud. “Oh, Garth—did the hostlers tell you why you were invited?”
Garth shook his head glumly. “No, I don’t know.... It isn’t for smith work,” he added haltingly.
Tumo will be feasting tonight, too.... Gonji shook his head and cleared his throat, was about to say something pleasant when the shriek came from a nearby table of mercenaries.
“How dare you!” a woman shouted. “I’m a personal servant of the king!” She raised a silver serving tray over her head like a bludgeon.
The man who had given her offense raised his eyebrows and leaned back in surprise, his companions roaring their mirth.
“She’s a fiery one, eh?”
“Draw on her, Merwyn!”
The woman launched into a tirade, berating the soldier’s impropriety, shaking a petite fist in his face all the while. A Llorm regular finally rose from his table and interposed himself between them, dismissing the girl and bending low to admonish the drunken wastrel.
“There’s the hoyden,” Garth said sullenly.
Gonji looked to him questioningly.
“Wilfred’s Genya,” Flavio clarified.
“ Ah, so desu —so that’s the lady fair!” Gonji said amusedly.
And then she was heading for their table, adjusting her hair and skirts primly as she pattered over with restored dignity. They all rose to greet her. She looked to be in her late teens, her short stature emphasizing a ripe figure. Her hair was curly, soft and dark, and it frolicked about her shoulders as she moved pertly, calling attention to a cherubic face and sparkling dark eyes. A set of baby-fat dimples framed full red lips that were formed in a tempting pucker. It should not have been surprising that she was much pursued by the young men of Vedun, for nature had fashioned her for allure. But it seemed to Gonji, as the men rose from their table to greet her, that her charm was not without guile and artifice.
“Oh, they’re such animals, these soldiers,” she said primly. Then she at once melted into wide-eyed innocence. “Oh, Papa Flavio, thank God you’re here! We’ve been simply dying inside, all of us, to know what’s become of Vedun.”
She bent and kissed his hand lightly, her own small white hand fluttering at her bodice modestly. “How are my parents?” She spoke to the Elder in his native Italian.
“They’re in good health,” Flavio replied, smiling benignly, “and they asked me to convey their love, as have all the servants’ families. My heart is heavy, though, for Lottie Kovacs. I’m afraid her father....”
“Yes, we’ve heard—oh, Blessed Mother, what a terrible, terrible thing! Lottie’s crushed, absolutely crushed. But at least Richard is here to comfort her. But dear Signore Flavio, you will try to gain us our freedom tonight, won’t you—?”
And Flavio offered his cautiously optimistic assurances that he would seek the hostages’ release. But almost before he had finished Genya had shifted her attention to
“ Damn you, mangy cur!” Gonji grated in his throat, shooing the animal away in not altogether dignified fashion. “Lift your leg on my swords and someone will be feasting on your carcass tonight!”
When his companions’ laughter had subsided, he reestablished his lost harmony and rubbed his reddening face. But he couldn’t help laughing himself and was pleased to see that he had lifted them from their timid sipping. Removing his daisho —his matched set of swords—from his obi , Gonji set them at his right side against the bench seat. He ran his hands under the slack left in the sash by their removal.
“Now I’ve got room,” he said, sniffing deeply with eyes closed at the tempting whiffs of meaty aroma seeping from the kitchens. “Looks like no monsters were invited tonight, anyway,” he added.
The others’ snickers subsided quickly, their memory of the cretin giant still poignant.
“Wonder who’s going to be seated at our table,” Gonji thought aloud. “Oh, Garth—did the hostlers tell you why you were invited?”
Garth shook his head glumly. “No, I don’t know.... It isn’t for smith work,” he added haltingly.
Tumo will be feasting tonight, too.... Gonji shook his head and cleared his throat, was about to say something pleasant when the shriek came from a nearby table of mercenaries.
“How dare you!” a woman shouted. “I’m a personal servant of the king!” She raised a silver serving tray over her head like a bludgeon.
The man who had given her offense raised his eyebrows and leaned back in surprise, his companions roaring their mirth.
“She’s a fiery one, eh?”
“Draw on her, Merwyn!”
The woman launched into a tirade, berating the soldier’s impropriety, shaking a petite fist in his face all the while. A Llorm regular finally rose from his table and interposed himself between them, dismissing the girl and bending low to admonish the drunken wastrel.
“There’s the hoyden,” Garth said sullenly.
Gonji looked to him questioningly.
“Wilfred’s Genya,” Flavio clarified.
“ Ah, so desu —so that’s the lady fair!” Gonji said amusedly.
And then she was heading for their table, adjusting her hair and skirts primly as she pattered over with restored dignity. They all rose to greet her. She looked to be in her late teens, her short stature emphasizing a ripe figure. Her hair was curly, soft and dark, and it frolicked about her shoulders as she moved pertly, calling attention to a cherubic face and sparkling dark eyes. A set of baby-fat dimples framed full red lips that were formed in a tempting pucker. It should not have been surprising that she was much pursued by the young men of Vedun, for nature had fashioned her for allure. But it seemed to Gonji, as the men rose from their table to greet her, that her charm was not without guile and artifice.
“Oh, they’re such animals, these soldiers,” she said primly. Then she at once melted into wide-eyed innocence. “Oh, Papa Flavio, thank God you’re here! We’ve been simply dying inside, all of us, to know what’s become of Vedun.”
She bent and kissed his hand lightly, her own small white hand fluttering at her bodice modestly. “How are my parents?” She spoke to the Elder in his native Italian.
“They’re in good health,” Flavio replied, smiling benignly, “and they asked me to convey their love, as have all the servants’ families. My heart is heavy, though, for Lottie Kovacs. I’m afraid her father....”
“Yes, we’ve heard—oh, Blessed Mother, what a terrible, terrible thing! Lottie’s crushed, absolutely crushed. But at least Richard is here to comfort her. But dear Signore Flavio, you will try to gain us our freedom tonight, won’t you—?”
And Flavio offered his cautiously optimistic assurances that he would seek the hostages’ release. But almost before he had finished Genya had shifted her attention to
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