Read Online Sacrifice (Book 4) by Brian Fuller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian Fuller
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Falael with you,” Maewen added. “He can see and sense things you cannot.”
Lord Kildan nodded. “Dason, Kimdan, and Tolbrook will stay with the Chalaine at all times and ride on the extreme western flank. If we are attacked, we will slow the advance to buy time for the Chalaine to escape.”
“I will ride with her as well,” Ethris offered, concern in his eyes.
The Chalaine could hardly speak. Something was happening to her, both in body and spirit. It felt like the undoing of everything that she was. In the hour after her mother left, her skin began to darken and dry as if held over some invisible, scorching flame that desiccated her flesh but didn’t burn. It worsened with every hour of the sweltering afternoon until chips of graying skin flecked away and fell like ash to the ground. She wore her riding gloves to hide it, but it hadn’t escaped Ethris’s notice.
But worse was a mounting despair flooding down a channel already worn away by her grief over Gen’s death and her mother’s departure. The events of the last two years had sent her soaring to the greatest heights of emotion and dashed her just as far down. But she realized now that even in dark times some anchor of hope had kept her grounded, some purpose had pushed her forward against the driving wind of resistance that always seemed to blow in her face. The anchor was gone, and a deadness just as heavy now replaced it. The sunshine around her mocked the storm that swirled in her mind. It reminded her of the demon’s poison that had pulled Gen so far into despair that it had nearly killed him. Who would come into her mind and pull her out?
“We ride!” Lord Kildan shouted, jolting the Chalaine out of her mind and into the dangerous world outside. Lord Kildan’s men took up the refrain and mounted their horses, though even the general clamor couldn’t mask the groans of weary men unready to be forced back into movement. Gerand, Volney at his side, split off and rode east with the cavalry until they were barely visible in the distance.
“Let me help you mount,” Dason said sweetly, offering his hand. She took it and then snatched it away self-consciously, feigning rearranging her improvised headdress and veil before taking the saddle and pulling herself up. Dason sidled up to her horse, making a show of adjusting the stirrup straps. His dark hair had grown wilder in the days of marching and battle, and his once-crisp uniform was rumpled and dirty. A strange glow of expectancy still filled his eyes, despite their harrowing circumstances.
“Milady, I know you have wandered through many sorrows. You have lost your husband and Gen, whom I know you esteemed as a great man of arms. I stand ready, as your ever constant friend, to succor you in these woes.” He lowered his voice. “And with the . . . obstacles . . . now removed, I might hope that the warm regard we have always shared might bloom into something more blessed than just friendship.”
The agony and deadness within her spared her from feeling the full horror of Dason’s unlooked for and unwelcome invitation. Her mind refused to even accept it as real, the social machinery meant to respond to such a forward declaration jammed and stuck fast in a mire. Esteemed Gen as a great man of arms? How could Dason be so ignorant of her feelings? She blinked to clear her head and then spurred the horse onward to join nearly two thousand men racing forward in a desperate attempt to reach the forest before an army of dark creatures overtook them.
The interminable night favored them with a clear sky, the full light of the three moons beaming down to ease their way through a light mist that clung to the grass like a gauzy veil. Horses and men fell during the night, exhausted and drained. The others rode on without them. Lord Kildan and General Harband refused to let up. The indomitable Maewen rode back and forth between the main body and Gerand’s defensive column on their eastern flank. The
Lord Kildan nodded. “Dason, Kimdan, and Tolbrook will stay with the Chalaine at all times and ride on the extreme western flank. If we are attacked, we will slow the advance to buy time for the Chalaine to escape.”
“I will ride with her as well,” Ethris offered, concern in his eyes.
The Chalaine could hardly speak. Something was happening to her, both in body and spirit. It felt like the undoing of everything that she was. In the hour after her mother left, her skin began to darken and dry as if held over some invisible, scorching flame that desiccated her flesh but didn’t burn. It worsened with every hour of the sweltering afternoon until chips of graying skin flecked away and fell like ash to the ground. She wore her riding gloves to hide it, but it hadn’t escaped Ethris’s notice.
But worse was a mounting despair flooding down a channel already worn away by her grief over Gen’s death and her mother’s departure. The events of the last two years had sent her soaring to the greatest heights of emotion and dashed her just as far down. But she realized now that even in dark times some anchor of hope had kept her grounded, some purpose had pushed her forward against the driving wind of resistance that always seemed to blow in her face. The anchor was gone, and a deadness just as heavy now replaced it. The sunshine around her mocked the storm that swirled in her mind. It reminded her of the demon’s poison that had pulled Gen so far into despair that it had nearly killed him. Who would come into her mind and pull her out?
“We ride!” Lord Kildan shouted, jolting the Chalaine out of her mind and into the dangerous world outside. Lord Kildan’s men took up the refrain and mounted their horses, though even the general clamor couldn’t mask the groans of weary men unready to be forced back into movement. Gerand, Volney at his side, split off and rode east with the cavalry until they were barely visible in the distance.
“Let me help you mount,” Dason said sweetly, offering his hand. She took it and then snatched it away self-consciously, feigning rearranging her improvised headdress and veil before taking the saddle and pulling herself up. Dason sidled up to her horse, making a show of adjusting the stirrup straps. His dark hair had grown wilder in the days of marching and battle, and his once-crisp uniform was rumpled and dirty. A strange glow of expectancy still filled his eyes, despite their harrowing circumstances.
“Milady, I know you have wandered through many sorrows. You have lost your husband and Gen, whom I know you esteemed as a great man of arms. I stand ready, as your ever constant friend, to succor you in these woes.” He lowered his voice. “And with the . . . obstacles . . . now removed, I might hope that the warm regard we have always shared might bloom into something more blessed than just friendship.”
The agony and deadness within her spared her from feeling the full horror of Dason’s unlooked for and unwelcome invitation. Her mind refused to even accept it as real, the social machinery meant to respond to such a forward declaration jammed and stuck fast in a mire. Esteemed Gen as a great man of arms? How could Dason be so ignorant of her feelings? She blinked to clear her head and then spurred the horse onward to join nearly two thousand men racing forward in a desperate attempt to reach the forest before an army of dark creatures overtook them.
The interminable night favored them with a clear sky, the full light of the three moons beaming down to ease their way through a light mist that clung to the grass like a gauzy veil. Horses and men fell during the night, exhausted and drained. The others rode on without them. Lord Kildan and General Harband refused to let up. The indomitable Maewen rode back and forth between the main body and Gerand’s defensive column on their eastern flank. The
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