Read Online Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red by Barb Hendee - Free Book Online
Authors: Barb Hendee
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kept getting caught in the spokes of the wheels.
Somehow, they all pressed onward until Jaromir called a halt at dusk. Amelie slid off her horse, putting both hands to her back. Once again, the soldiers worked quickly to set up camp, but they seemed just as angst ridden as they’d been the night before, glancing into the dark trees.
When the campfire fire burned brightly and supper had been passed out, Céline stepped in again to try to distract the men. Tonight, she switched to storytelling.
“Have you heard the tale of the ungrateful prince?” she asked, holding up both palms.
Her first story was an adventure about a haughty young prince transformed into a wolfhound by a wizard to whom he’d been rude. The young noble then roamed the land, attempting to lift the curse using only his brains and his paws while learning more about the people of his province in the process.
Céline walked around the glowing campfire, using her arms and hands to help tell the story, and altering her voice to make the characters seem more real.
By the time she was halfway through, all the soldiers had stopped eating and were leaning forward, just listening.
Of course the young prince negated his curse in the end by undertaking one unselfish task, helping a village plagued by trolls.
Céline acted out the final battle with great flair.
The next tale was a comedy about three brothers vying for the love of an unworthy woman by playing foul tricks on one another. When Céline reached the point at which one brother tainted another’s bathwater with blue dye, the soldiers were laughing out loud.
Although Amelie had been enjoying the stories, too, she glanced back and noticed Jaromir watching Céline with the same gratitude as he had the night before.
At the sight of this, Amelie couldn’t help feeling useless again. She possessed skills and gifts, butentertaining other people was not among them. Though she longed to be useful, Céline’s gifts were simply much more . . . apparent.
Soon, everyone bedded down for the night, somewhat cheered both by the stories Céline had woven into the night air and with the hope of reaching their destination the following day.
But on that next day, Céline’s gifts only proved ever more visible and indispensable.
The morning started off well enough. Once they were packed and ready to leave, Jaromir mounted his horse and consulted his map. Amelie settled gingerly into the saddle of her black gelding and then rode up beside him.
“How far?” she asked, already gritting her teeth at the pain shooting up her spine.
“It depends,” he answered, holding the map down for her to see. “We’re going to have to cross the Vudrask River, so we have two possible routes from here.”
“Cross the river? Isn’t that the borderline between Droevinka and Stravina?”
“Generally, yes,” he answered. “But over the past hundred years or so, a few territories directly on either side have been traded. Ryazan is one of them.”
Drawing her attention back to the map, he pointed his finger at their current location and then began sliding it. “If we want an easier time of things, we turn off onto this wide northeast road, follow it all the way up to and around Enêmûsk, and then keep going until we reach this bridge.” He pointed to a symbol representing a bridge. “Once across, we can head west again, butthat route will take us longer.” His finger moved back to their current location and then upward. “Or we can continue straight north on this current narrow path and ford the river here where the water is more shallow. Following that route, we should reached Ryazan by late afternoon.”
“Oh, the shorter one, please,” Amelie blurted out.
“Are you in a hurry to arrive there?”
“No, I am in a hurry to be off this horse. My backside will never be the same.”
Instantly, she regretted her words, expecting him to make some joke about her backside, but he simply nodded. “All right.
Somehow, they all pressed onward until Jaromir called a halt at dusk. Amelie slid off her horse, putting both hands to her back. Once again, the soldiers worked quickly to set up camp, but they seemed just as angst ridden as they’d been the night before, glancing into the dark trees.
When the campfire fire burned brightly and supper had been passed out, Céline stepped in again to try to distract the men. Tonight, she switched to storytelling.
“Have you heard the tale of the ungrateful prince?” she asked, holding up both palms.
Her first story was an adventure about a haughty young prince transformed into a wolfhound by a wizard to whom he’d been rude. The young noble then roamed the land, attempting to lift the curse using only his brains and his paws while learning more about the people of his province in the process.
Céline walked around the glowing campfire, using her arms and hands to help tell the story, and altering her voice to make the characters seem more real.
By the time she was halfway through, all the soldiers had stopped eating and were leaning forward, just listening.
Of course the young prince negated his curse in the end by undertaking one unselfish task, helping a village plagued by trolls.
Céline acted out the final battle with great flair.
The next tale was a comedy about three brothers vying for the love of an unworthy woman by playing foul tricks on one another. When Céline reached the point at which one brother tainted another’s bathwater with blue dye, the soldiers were laughing out loud.
Although Amelie had been enjoying the stories, too, she glanced back and noticed Jaromir watching Céline with the same gratitude as he had the night before.
At the sight of this, Amelie couldn’t help feeling useless again. She possessed skills and gifts, butentertaining other people was not among them. Though she longed to be useful, Céline’s gifts were simply much more . . . apparent.
Soon, everyone bedded down for the night, somewhat cheered both by the stories Céline had woven into the night air and with the hope of reaching their destination the following day.
But on that next day, Céline’s gifts only proved ever more visible and indispensable.
The morning started off well enough. Once they were packed and ready to leave, Jaromir mounted his horse and consulted his map. Amelie settled gingerly into the saddle of her black gelding and then rode up beside him.
“How far?” she asked, already gritting her teeth at the pain shooting up her spine.
“It depends,” he answered, holding the map down for her to see. “We’re going to have to cross the Vudrask River, so we have two possible routes from here.”
“Cross the river? Isn’t that the borderline between Droevinka and Stravina?”
“Generally, yes,” he answered. “But over the past hundred years or so, a few territories directly on either side have been traded. Ryazan is one of them.”
Drawing her attention back to the map, he pointed his finger at their current location and then began sliding it. “If we want an easier time of things, we turn off onto this wide northeast road, follow it all the way up to and around Enêmûsk, and then keep going until we reach this bridge.” He pointed to a symbol representing a bridge. “Once across, we can head west again, butthat route will take us longer.” His finger moved back to their current location and then upward. “Or we can continue straight north on this current narrow path and ford the river here where the water is more shallow. Following that route, we should reached Ryazan by late afternoon.”
“Oh, the shorter one, please,” Amelie blurted out.
“Are you in a hurry to arrive there?”
“No, I am in a hurry to be off this horse. My backside will never be the same.”
Instantly, she regretted her words, expecting him to make some joke about her backside, but he simply nodded. “All right.
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