Read Online Sword of Hemlock (Lords of Syon Saga Book 1) by Jordan MacLean - Free Book Online

Bremondines, these days, especially with those of—” he looked at her
sideways as he moved back to the empty bar, “—her kind.  Good for business,
y’understand, to play the part, because what man on Syon doesn’t dream of…” and
the rest was lost to muttering.
    “There, you see?”  Finnig raised his pint and put his hand
over Gikka’s arm.  “Just a regular whore, Bernold.  But it’s as well you’re not
Gikka of Graymonde,” he slurred, stifling a belch.  “If you were,” he laughed,
“we two would be dead by now.”
    Her heart quickened but she willed herself to stay calm
under his touch.  “Oh, I think not,” she purred.   Below the table, she flexed
her other hand over the hilt of her dagger.  Not just yet.  “What grand scheme
of yours would draw her eye?  Sure such a one as she has bigger foes than you.”
    “Oh, my darling,” grinned Bernold malevolently.  “You’ve no
idea what company you keep tonight.”  He drew himself up and leaned toward her,
quieting his voice.  “We, that is, we two alone, defeated the Knights of
Brannagh.”
    “Defeated the knights?”  Idle boast, perhaps. Even sheer
lies.  Patience, she told herself, patience.  She had to be sure.  “What,” she
asked, looking from one to the other, “in tournament?  Sure not in battle. The
land is at peace.”
    “Nay, not in battle, pretty one.”  Finnig combed his fingers
affectionately through her hair.  “We duped that Brannagh sheriff and took his
very granddaughter right from her nursery and sold her, is what, and for an
embarrassingly high price, at that.”  He laughed, running his fingers along the
neckline of her tunic.  “Enough to keep you in silk gowns and ribbons your
whole long life, my dear.”
    Sold her.  Gikka swallowed hard, fighting back her rage. 
She managed a quizzical smile, one bordering on admiration, even while bile
rose in her throat.  Now would come the meat of it.  “But who—”
    “Damnable Brannagh knights,” spat Bernold darkly, and
suddenly all his humor was gone.  “They stole victories that should have been
ours.  They rescued the villages on the earl’s lands without so much as a
salute to our own knights.”  He stared into his ale.  “To hear Wirthing
villages praising the name of Brannagh...”
    Gikka blinked at him.  The Knights of Wirthing had been
counted allies of Brannagh for centuries.  During the last year of the war,
Renda and several of the warriors she’d gathered and trained had stayed at the
earl’s castle for a time to tend wounds and gather supplies. In return for his
hospitality, the earl had asked for their help.
    The Wirthing forces had been overwhelmed and nearly
destroyed by the Anatayans who had been allied, however briefly, to Kadak.  The
northerners had swept down past the Dhanani tribes’ western flank and pressed
both Wirthing and the Dhanani tribesmen.  The Dhanani had no love for Wirthing,
so they would have gladly abandoned Wirthing to the Anatayans in exchange for
their own safety.  But the Dhanani were blood-bound to Brannagh, so they had
helped Renda and her knights drive the Anatayans back to their own lands. 
Renda’s knights had reclaimed Wirthing’s prime pastureland from Kadak as well
as freeing several outlying freeman villages that later swore the earl fealty. 
But in faith, the villages had shouted their first praises to Brannagh.
    At the astonished look on Gikka’s face, Finnig flashed a
quick smile that was meant to be comforting and slapped his hand against
Bernold’s shoulder in lighthearted camaraderie.  “Would that I could say it
took some doing to kidnap the child, but—”
    “The old fool Brannagh.”  Bernold shook his head, refusing
to lighten his mood.  “So trusting.  Has none but some old crone of a nun to
mind the little one, and with the war done, no one so much as watches the
gatehouse by day.  We waited until the old woman doddered away, bade the simple
child follow