Read Online Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) by Garrett Robinson - Free Book Online

chop enough logs. Or whip the daughter for mussing her dress.”
    Loren’s fingers had grown tight around her hunting knife. She forced them to loosen.
    “How could you stand it? I would have gone mad.”
    Loren smiled. She looked into the darkness to either side of her as though searching for an eavesdropper.  
    “I might have done. Did you ever think of that, my little lady?”  
    Loren flipped her knife over the back of her palm, and drops of blood spattered the dirt.
    Annis squealed. “How did you learn to do that? I wish I could flip a knife!”
    Loren chuckled and turned back to the quail. She carved off long strips of its flesh and propped them up to cook over the fire. “That little trick, and a fair few stories, I learned from an old man named Bracken.”
    “Bracken?” Annis cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.
    Loren raised her hands. “I doubt he gave his true name. He used to say that names held power, and that only fools gave theirs away. He was old when my parents were children, and he came to our village in autumn every year. He carried a great sack filled with metal pans and hunting knives and old boots. He would trade them in the village, but never for coin. Always he traded for food or trinkets or a nice strong bow.”
    “A peddler!”  
    Loren cocked her head. “I do not know this word.”
    “He was a peddler,” said Annis, drawing up straight and puffing out her chest in pride. “They move from town to town, selling and trading. They often tell stories as well. ‘Tall as a peddler’s tale,’ we say on the Seat.”
    Loren shrugged. “Well, Bracken told tales, true enough. Simple tales of things happening in the nine lands today, and grand tales of knights and dragons from faraway yesteryears. When I went out to fell trees, often he would follow, sitting in a crook or hollow to spin his stories.”
    “I love stories of dragons,” said Annis. “Is it true they’re still to be found out in the world?”
    Loren gave a little smile. “Truly? Dragons? I did not take you for one who sought to be a mighty warrior.”
    Annis smiled. “My tutor said the same thing. Soon, I turned it into a joke and said that I only liked the dragons because they had so much gold, just like my family.”
    Loren chuckled. “I like a quick wit.”
    “But come, tell me. Did you have favorite stories? Did you like to hear of the princesses who overcame their wicked stepparents? You must have hoped to escape as they did.”
    Loren sat silent for a moment. She feared it unwise to speak of her purpose with just anyone. But Annis was only a child. Who would believe her? And if they did, what then? Loren had done nothing wrong. Yet.
    She leaned forward and pulled the sticks of quail from the fire. “Have you heard the tale of Mennet the Mist?”
    Annis took a stick, her eyes alight, and leaned back to wrap her arms around her knees. She took a large bite and chewed noisily. “No. Who was he?”
    “There never lived a greater thief than Mennet the Mist,” said Loren, trying to mimic Bracken’s voice when he began a tale. “They say he struck a deal with the shadows themselves. He wove them into a cloak to melt into any darkness and appear in another shadow wherever he wanted. Even in the vaults of cruel kings and tyrants.”
    “Oh,” said Annis. “He was a good man, then?”
    “Not always,” said Loren, shaking her head. “He grew up poor and barefoot in the streets of some city—I forget which. He fell in with cutthroats and brigands. He lived as a highwayman, waylaying caravans. Like this one.”
    Annis looked over her shoulder into the night. Bracken would have been proud.
    “But one day, as he and his men rode through the land in search of more plentiful bounty, they came upon a village. The King in that land treated his subjects poorly and met any insolence with fire and sword. Some man in the village had delivered insult, so the King sent his army to burn it to ashes.
    “Some of Mennet’s men