Read Online Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) by Court Ellyn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Court Ellyn
Ads: Link
the fact that your loyalties will always be called into
question.”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“That’s the problem, Laral! You
don’t care. The rest of us must. I will take no pleasure in telling His Majesty
that my heir married one of his enemies.”
“Then don’t tell him. I will
tell him. And I’ll be damned if I hang my head or hide my face because the
woman I love lives on the wrong side of the bloody river.”
“Hiding your face may be exactly
what you find yourself doing. What if war breaks out? Who will you fight for?
Will you break those vows you just took to protect king and country? Eh?”
“I won’t fight at all!”
“You won’t have that option, son.”
He saw the sense in his father’s
tirade, but the last thing he meant to do was admit it aloud. He checked the
cinches on his saddle for the tenth time, feeling all the while as if he faced
a great storm and having no choice but to ride into it. If he didn’t, he would
always wonder if … if. And what would his promises mean? “I can’t break my
word,” he said and led the warhorse from the yard. Drys and Kalla hurried after
him, dragging their own skittish mounts.
“I’ll revoke your inheritance,”
Lander called after him, “give it all to your sister.”
“Fine! Do!” Laral shouted over his
shoulder, though it felt like spitting glass to say it.
“If this Fieran turns you down,
you’ll be outcast.”
Laral turned back at that. “Ruthan
would never cast me out as you would. She still has a heart.”
“Laral?” The tiny voice came from
the steps to the keep. Ruthan stood in the morning sunlight, fair hair shining like
a ray of dawn, dark eyes large and sad. She carried a bundle half as large as
she was as she descended the steps. “It’s going to be cold at night. And it’s
going to rain.” Was it? The skies looked clear to him, but he knew better than
to doubt her word. As much as he wanted to avoid the extra weight, he accepted
the heavy woolen blanket. Ruthan flipped back a corner. Secreted inside the
folds was a roughly stitched doll wearing a knight’s surcoat. “I charmed it,”
she said. “It’s for luck.”
Laral descended to a knee and
hugged her tight. Last night he’d been tempted to ask his sister if Bethyn
would accept him, but Ruthan hadn’t peered into the future after Leshan died,
not so much as to see which horses would win the races at Assembly. In any case,
Bethyn’s refusal was certain if he didn’t go; it was best if he didn’t know
anything beyond that. “Don’t let Da hurt himself, eh?”
Ruthan smiled, so much older and
wiser than her ten years.
Laral tied the blanket behind his
saddle, tucked the wee knight into his undershirt alongside the ash pouch she
had embroidered for him, then climbed into the saddle.
Lord Lander mounted the steps to
the keep so that his son had to ride out under his angry gaze.
“If I return alone, you can laugh
in my face.”
“So help me, I will!” exclaimed Lander
as his son put spurs to the warhorse’s flanks. “ If you return. You’ll be
lucky if you’re not run through as soon as you step across that bridge. You’ll
never make it to Brengarra. Laral!”
He did not turn back. He’d break if
he did. Drys and Kalla rode to each side of him, lending him courage.
The stones of the gatehouse still wore
the scars of war. Gouges from trebuchet shot, black scorch marks from Dragon
fire. Everything inside the curtain wall had been burned to cinders: keep,
stables, artisans quarters, granaries, smithy, kennels, and gardens. Leshan had
rebuilt them all, exact replicas of the originals. But for the newness of the
stone and mortar, these buildings might have been standing for a thousand
years.
Beyond the original gatehouse,
construction continued. At the end of a straight road a quarter-mile long, a
second gatehouse neared completion. The plans, written in Leshan’s own hand,
called it Andett’s Bastion, after his mother; it dwarfed
question.”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“That’s the problem, Laral! You
don’t care. The rest of us must. I will take no pleasure in telling His Majesty
that my heir married one of his enemies.”
“Then don’t tell him. I will
tell him. And I’ll be damned if I hang my head or hide my face because the
woman I love lives on the wrong side of the bloody river.”
“Hiding your face may be exactly
what you find yourself doing. What if war breaks out? Who will you fight for?
Will you break those vows you just took to protect king and country? Eh?”
“I won’t fight at all!”
“You won’t have that option, son.”
He saw the sense in his father’s
tirade, but the last thing he meant to do was admit it aloud. He checked the
cinches on his saddle for the tenth time, feeling all the while as if he faced
a great storm and having no choice but to ride into it. If he didn’t, he would
always wonder if … if. And what would his promises mean? “I can’t break my
word,” he said and led the warhorse from the yard. Drys and Kalla hurried after
him, dragging their own skittish mounts.
“I’ll revoke your inheritance,”
Lander called after him, “give it all to your sister.”
“Fine! Do!” Laral shouted over his
shoulder, though it felt like spitting glass to say it.
“If this Fieran turns you down,
you’ll be outcast.”
Laral turned back at that. “Ruthan
would never cast me out as you would. She still has a heart.”
“Laral?” The tiny voice came from
the steps to the keep. Ruthan stood in the morning sunlight, fair hair shining like
a ray of dawn, dark eyes large and sad. She carried a bundle half as large as
she was as she descended the steps. “It’s going to be cold at night. And it’s
going to rain.” Was it? The skies looked clear to him, but he knew better than
to doubt her word. As much as he wanted to avoid the extra weight, he accepted
the heavy woolen blanket. Ruthan flipped back a corner. Secreted inside the
folds was a roughly stitched doll wearing a knight’s surcoat. “I charmed it,”
she said. “It’s for luck.”
Laral descended to a knee and
hugged her tight. Last night he’d been tempted to ask his sister if Bethyn
would accept him, but Ruthan hadn’t peered into the future after Leshan died,
not so much as to see which horses would win the races at Assembly. In any case,
Bethyn’s refusal was certain if he didn’t go; it was best if he didn’t know
anything beyond that. “Don’t let Da hurt himself, eh?”
Ruthan smiled, so much older and
wiser than her ten years.
Laral tied the blanket behind his
saddle, tucked the wee knight into his undershirt alongside the ash pouch she
had embroidered for him, then climbed into the saddle.
Lord Lander mounted the steps to
the keep so that his son had to ride out under his angry gaze.
“If I return alone, you can laugh
in my face.”
“So help me, I will!” exclaimed Lander
as his son put spurs to the warhorse’s flanks. “ If you return. You’ll be
lucky if you’re not run through as soon as you step across that bridge. You’ll
never make it to Brengarra. Laral!”
He did not turn back. He’d break if
he did. Drys and Kalla rode to each side of him, lending him courage.
The stones of the gatehouse still wore
the scars of war. Gouges from trebuchet shot, black scorch marks from Dragon
fire. Everything inside the curtain wall had been burned to cinders: keep,
stables, artisans quarters, granaries, smithy, kennels, and gardens. Leshan had
rebuilt them all, exact replicas of the originals. But for the newness of the
stone and mortar, these buildings might have been standing for a thousand
years.
Beyond the original gatehouse,
construction continued. At the end of a straight road a quarter-mile long, a
second gatehouse neared completion. The plans, written in Leshan’s own hand,
called it Andett’s Bastion, after his mother; it dwarfed
Similar Books
