Read Online Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) by Gail Z. Martin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gail Z. Martin
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that’s what they’ll assume. Nothing was taken. And yet, I’ve lost candlemarks of my life. I don’t know what I did or said. Gods help me! What if I’ve broken confidence, betrayed my master—and the king?
Another possibility loomed, equally frightening.
Or perhaps
, Connor thought,
I’m going mad. I’ve heard that men can go into a frenzy and remember nothing. Gods! What if I’ve killed someone, done something awful, and don’t remember? Either way, I’ve shamed my master, betrayed my vows, maybe even compromised the king.
Always the thoughts circled to the same conclusion.
Confess my fears, and Garnoc will disown me. No one else will want an unreliable assistant. I’ll starve. Or worse, Merrill will lock me up for treason. I can’t bear that, especially when I don’t even know what I’ve done.
Stay, and it could happen again.
He groaned, looking quickly from side to side to assure himself that he was alone on the road.
Gods forgive me! I don’t have the courage to confess to a crime I can’t remember. I could run away, but whoever’s done this to me might find me—before I starve as a beggar. The king mightfear I was a spy and send his men for me. What a choice! Run away and starve or stay and make it worse, and I can’t even remember what I’ve done!
In less than a candlemark, Connor had left the city of Castle Reach behind him. He paused for a moment and looked up at the sky. It was a clear night in late summer. He searched the sky for the constellations and found the lightning-like pattern of Charrot’s stars, chosen by those who thought it represented the Source God’s twin nature. Esthrane’s constellation, a row of five stars for the body of the mother and emerging child and four other stars at the corners of a square for the goddess’s hands and feet, were also visible. Connor guessed that the ancients who had named the stars had far more imagination than he did to envision such detailed images from a few points of light.
Autumn would come soon, and Esthrane’s constellation would dip below the horizon as Torven’s K-shaped pattern of stars—a conjuror with his arm outstretched holding a staff—would rise. Connor hoped that autumn brought with it milder temperatures and cooler tempers.
With a sigh, Connor urged his horse forward. Lanyon Penhallow’s current home was a two-candlemark ride from Castle Reach. He shook his head to ward off sleep and nudged his horse with his heels. The night was already far spent and he knew that he must reach Penhallow’s manor before dawn.
Finally, the lights of Rodestead House came into view. Connor slowed his horse so as not to alarm Lord Penhallow’s guardsmen at the large stone gate. The manor was surrounded by an iron fence of unsurpassed workmanship, both sturdy and beautiful, wrought with symbols and scenes like a metal tapestry. Connor brought his horse to a walk as he approached the gate.
“State your name and business.”
“Bevin Connor. I bear a message for your master from Lord Garnoc.”
After a moment, the huge iron gate swung open. “You may enter the grounds,” the unseen guard replied. “Wait at the manor door to be admitted.”
By now, Connor was familiar with the ritual. He dismounted, and led his horse up the carriageway. As he approached the house, he felt the scrutiny of unseen watchers. He was careful to keep his hand well away from the sword at his side. Connor looped his horse’s reins over the hitching post at the end of the carriageway and walked slowly up the broad granite steps to the manor’s imposingly carved front door. Before he could knock, the double doors swung open. Framed in the large doorway was a thin man of indeterminate age.
“Welcome, Master Connor. Please come in.” Hannes, Lord Penhallow’s steward, stepped aside to allow Connor to enter. That he was met by the steward and not by one of the other servants gave Connor to guess that somehow, Lord Penhallow expected his arrival. Though he
Another possibility loomed, equally frightening.
Or perhaps
, Connor thought,
I’m going mad. I’ve heard that men can go into a frenzy and remember nothing. Gods! What if I’ve killed someone, done something awful, and don’t remember? Either way, I’ve shamed my master, betrayed my vows, maybe even compromised the king.
Always the thoughts circled to the same conclusion.
Confess my fears, and Garnoc will disown me. No one else will want an unreliable assistant. I’ll starve. Or worse, Merrill will lock me up for treason. I can’t bear that, especially when I don’t even know what I’ve done.
Stay, and it could happen again.
He groaned, looking quickly from side to side to assure himself that he was alone on the road.
Gods forgive me! I don’t have the courage to confess to a crime I can’t remember. I could run away, but whoever’s done this to me might find me—before I starve as a beggar. The king mightfear I was a spy and send his men for me. What a choice! Run away and starve or stay and make it worse, and I can’t even remember what I’ve done!
In less than a candlemark, Connor had left the city of Castle Reach behind him. He paused for a moment and looked up at the sky. It was a clear night in late summer. He searched the sky for the constellations and found the lightning-like pattern of Charrot’s stars, chosen by those who thought it represented the Source God’s twin nature. Esthrane’s constellation, a row of five stars for the body of the mother and emerging child and four other stars at the corners of a square for the goddess’s hands and feet, were also visible. Connor guessed that the ancients who had named the stars had far more imagination than he did to envision such detailed images from a few points of light.
Autumn would come soon, and Esthrane’s constellation would dip below the horizon as Torven’s K-shaped pattern of stars—a conjuror with his arm outstretched holding a staff—would rise. Connor hoped that autumn brought with it milder temperatures and cooler tempers.
With a sigh, Connor urged his horse forward. Lanyon Penhallow’s current home was a two-candlemark ride from Castle Reach. He shook his head to ward off sleep and nudged his horse with his heels. The night was already far spent and he knew that he must reach Penhallow’s manor before dawn.
Finally, the lights of Rodestead House came into view. Connor slowed his horse so as not to alarm Lord Penhallow’s guardsmen at the large stone gate. The manor was surrounded by an iron fence of unsurpassed workmanship, both sturdy and beautiful, wrought with symbols and scenes like a metal tapestry. Connor brought his horse to a walk as he approached the gate.
“State your name and business.”
“Bevin Connor. I bear a message for your master from Lord Garnoc.”
After a moment, the huge iron gate swung open. “You may enter the grounds,” the unseen guard replied. “Wait at the manor door to be admitted.”
By now, Connor was familiar with the ritual. He dismounted, and led his horse up the carriageway. As he approached the house, he felt the scrutiny of unseen watchers. He was careful to keep his hand well away from the sword at his side. Connor looped his horse’s reins over the hitching post at the end of the carriageway and walked slowly up the broad granite steps to the manor’s imposingly carved front door. Before he could knock, the double doors swung open. Framed in the large doorway was a thin man of indeterminate age.
“Welcome, Master Connor. Please come in.” Hannes, Lord Penhallow’s steward, stepped aside to allow Connor to enter. That he was met by the steward and not by one of the other servants gave Connor to guess that somehow, Lord Penhallow expected his arrival. Though he
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