Read Online King's Man and Thief by Christie Golden - Free Book Online
Authors: Christie Golden
Tags: Fantasy
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motionless touring pools, would always die after a brief bout of grief at being separated from the ocean. Farther north, past Byrn, it was said the ratlike monsters called the Ghil enslaved the sea-people as well, forcing them to harvest the ocean's bounties for them.
"King Castyll will stop the pirates, won't he?" Concern was in Darshirin's voice. "Castyll's a good lad. And when he learns of the service you've done him, I'm certain he'll do everything he can to put an end to the slavery of your people."
Again Darshirin smiled, and again Jemma's heart swelled with affection for the magnificent being. Without another word, Darshirin sank back into the arms of the ocean. There was a splash, and Jemma saw the flip of a dolphin's tail break the surface a few feet away. Then the rope was pulled taut, tugged by Darshirin's powerful dolphin's beak, and the little boat reversed course and skipped along the waves in the direction of the shore.
Sweet Health, thought Jemma to herself as she rowed the rest of the way to the dock, I am getting too old for this. She frowned to herself. Wasn't her stock of joint salve getting low? She would have to check.
Her mind still on her medicines, she retied the small boat in its proper place, picked up her basket, and began to walk down the now-deserted streets. Home was only a few minutes away. This is good, Jemma thought. Not up to another long walk. When I get home —
Her heart began to pound. She realized that now the streets were no longer deserted. Six armed guardsmen were waiting, concealed by shadows. Summoning her courage and straightening to her diminutive height, Jemma gazed at them in turn.
"Good evening, sirs. How may old Jemma the Healer help you?"
"There is sickness in Seacliff," said one. His voice hitched slightly. "The king is ill. Bhakir sent us to find you."
Fear coursed through Jemma's veins. Flight would be foolish. These men wanted her, and they would have her. That Bhakir sent them to find her, she had no doubt, but she knew there was no sickness involved. Somehow she must have been discovered. She only hoped that young Castyll was still all right.
"If King Castyll is ill, of course I shall come." At least, as long as she kept up the pretense, they would delay the inevitable pain. Keeping her head high, her long gray braid falling behind her to her knees, Jemma quietly went with the guards who had been sent to imprison her.
* * * * *
Alone in the small room that was now his bedchamber, Castyll lay in his bed. He was not asleep, but merely waiting for the dead time of night. When that hour came, he quietly left his canopied bed, soundlessly pushing aside the heavy draperies and moving with a deep grace that would have surprised him had he noticed it. Bare feet sank into the soft, thick fur of a mountain-cat rug. Naked, he walked across the rug, steeled himself for the cold stone of the floor, and went to the single candle that sat, unlit, on a small table by the door.
Drawing up a chair, Castyll eased himself down. The old piece of furniture did not creak in the slightest. He winced but a little as the chill wood touched his buttocks. Placing his broad palms on his thighs, Castyll stared at the candle, and concentrated.
When he had been three years old, he had been given the Test. Then, it had been simple: He had merely slipped his small child's arms into an adult-sized pair of arm bracers. Had he had the talent for magic, the bracers would have lit up with a warm, red hue. But nothing had happened, and all assumed that Castyll had, sadly, not been blessed with the talent for magic that graced so many of the Derlian kings.
But King Shahil hadn't accepted the ruling of the bracers, and he had encouraged Castyll to keep working, to keep learning, hoping that perhaps the talent would reveal itself later. One of the simplest tricks, Castyll knew, was lighting a candle using only the force of one's will. This would reveal the talent for either hand or mind magic.
"King Castyll will stop the pirates, won't he?" Concern was in Darshirin's voice. "Castyll's a good lad. And when he learns of the service you've done him, I'm certain he'll do everything he can to put an end to the slavery of your people."
Again Darshirin smiled, and again Jemma's heart swelled with affection for the magnificent being. Without another word, Darshirin sank back into the arms of the ocean. There was a splash, and Jemma saw the flip of a dolphin's tail break the surface a few feet away. Then the rope was pulled taut, tugged by Darshirin's powerful dolphin's beak, and the little boat reversed course and skipped along the waves in the direction of the shore.
Sweet Health, thought Jemma to herself as she rowed the rest of the way to the dock, I am getting too old for this. She frowned to herself. Wasn't her stock of joint salve getting low? She would have to check.
Her mind still on her medicines, she retied the small boat in its proper place, picked up her basket, and began to walk down the now-deserted streets. Home was only a few minutes away. This is good, Jemma thought. Not up to another long walk. When I get home —
Her heart began to pound. She realized that now the streets were no longer deserted. Six armed guardsmen were waiting, concealed by shadows. Summoning her courage and straightening to her diminutive height, Jemma gazed at them in turn.
"Good evening, sirs. How may old Jemma the Healer help you?"
"There is sickness in Seacliff," said one. His voice hitched slightly. "The king is ill. Bhakir sent us to find you."
Fear coursed through Jemma's veins. Flight would be foolish. These men wanted her, and they would have her. That Bhakir sent them to find her, she had no doubt, but she knew there was no sickness involved. Somehow she must have been discovered. She only hoped that young Castyll was still all right.
"If King Castyll is ill, of course I shall come." At least, as long as she kept up the pretense, they would delay the inevitable pain. Keeping her head high, her long gray braid falling behind her to her knees, Jemma quietly went with the guards who had been sent to imprison her.
* * * * *
Alone in the small room that was now his bedchamber, Castyll lay in his bed. He was not asleep, but merely waiting for the dead time of night. When that hour came, he quietly left his canopied bed, soundlessly pushing aside the heavy draperies and moving with a deep grace that would have surprised him had he noticed it. Bare feet sank into the soft, thick fur of a mountain-cat rug. Naked, he walked across the rug, steeled himself for the cold stone of the floor, and went to the single candle that sat, unlit, on a small table by the door.
Drawing up a chair, Castyll eased himself down. The old piece of furniture did not creak in the slightest. He winced but a little as the chill wood touched his buttocks. Placing his broad palms on his thighs, Castyll stared at the candle, and concentrated.
When he had been three years old, he had been given the Test. Then, it had been simple: He had merely slipped his small child's arms into an adult-sized pair of arm bracers. Had he had the talent for magic, the bracers would have lit up with a warm, red hue. But nothing had happened, and all assumed that Castyll had, sadly, not been blessed with the talent for magic that graced so many of the Derlian kings.
But King Shahil hadn't accepted the ruling of the bracers, and he had encouraged Castyll to keep working, to keep learning, hoping that perhaps the talent would reveal itself later. One of the simplest tricks, Castyll knew, was lighting a candle using only the force of one's will. This would reveal the talent for either hand or mind magic.
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