Read Online The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) by K.J. Hargan - Free Book Online
Authors: K.J. Hargan
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practiced smile. “I’m great niece to Ganthebe, the king of the Eaststand. Well, he was a king once, but then... Oh, the history of Weald politics is very boring. So... Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Garmee Gamee curtsied with skill.
Frea tenderly turned to Wynnfrith. “I’ve had no word,” she said.
“Do you think he is alive?” Wynnfrith timidly asked.
“I think we would have heard great wailing all throughout Wealdland if the great, general boy, Arnwylf had died,” Frea coldly said.
“He’s hurt you,” Garmee Gamee plainly said to Frea.
Frea’s face betrayed her deep pain for only a moment, then a trained hardness returned to fix her features. “I welcome you, Garmee Gamee,” Frea said. “What do you want?”
Garmee Gamee looked blankly at Frea, sputtering, her mouth an open pitch hole. “I’m with her. So...” she finally got out pointing at Wynnfrith.
“Oh please,” Wynnfrith implored Frea, “hold nothing back. If you have heard even a request for provisions...”
“He has not responded to any of my letters,” Frea quietly said with downcast eyes.
“It may be the way of the wealdkin,” Garmee Gamee said. “We do not write flowery love missives. And he was raised by Alrhett and Wynnfrith, both wealdkin. And his father was of Reia. You, being of the Northern Kingdom of Man may not understand him at all.”
Frea quickly stood to face Garmee Gamee, who blankly stared with a look of practiced innocence.
Wynnfrith slowly rose. “If you hear anything, anything...” she said, her heart breaking. Then, Wynnfrith, like a ghost moved to the door and left.
“You may be right,” Frea said sitting again, staring at the floor. “It may be I do not understand him at all.”
“But you love him. So...” Garmee Gamee said, moving stealthily close.
“Yes,” Frea whispered to herself. Then Frea raised her face and wiped her tears. “But no one shall have sway over me, ever again. Ever.”
“Oh,” Garmee Gamee mewed, “because of what happened to you and that awful Ravensdred thing. You must have felt so helpless and weak. You must have been terrified. Everyone knows about it, and pities you. How embarrassing for you. I understand.”
Ronenth returned, composed. “I apologize for my outburst,” he gallantly said.
“No, no,” Frea said and rushed to hold his arms. “I am the one who should apologize, my dear, sweet Ronenth. Garmee Gamee, would you excuse us for a moment?”
Garmee Gamee rose and hurried to the edge of the courtyard where she found a young, ginger haired girl intently watching Frea and Ronenth.
“Hello,” Garmee Gamee said, tilting her head with practiced, false charm. “I am Garmee Gamee. Who are you?”
“Hetwing,” was all the young girl said.
And then Garmee Gamee followed Hetwing’s lovelorn gaze to where Frea and Ronenth held each other, and whispered quiet assurances to each other.
“Oh,” Garmee Gamee said to the fragile girl. “You love the Glaf boy. It seems he loves the princess of the Northern Kingdom of Man. Too bad for you.”
Hetwing broke into soul rending sobs, buried her face in her arm, and fled the courtyard.
Frea and Ronenth approached.
“Who was weeping?” Frea asked.
“No one,” Garmee Gamee said with a wrinkled smile.
Frea turned to Ronenth. “I am receiving Hetwing, daughter to Healfdene, king of Reia. I must see if she has arrived.”
“I will wait for you here,” Ronenth stoically said.
After Frea was gone Garmee Gamee said, “So you are Ronenth, the last of the Glafs.”
“Yes,” Ronenth said. “But, there are two other Glafs. But they are very old.”
“So you must never go to war,” Garmee Gamee said.
“Why?” Ronenth asked with a sudden scowl.
“It would mean the end of your people,” Garmee Gamee said with practiced innocence. “No one would doubt your courage or bravery. Why I’m sure no one needs your sword on the battle lines in Lanis or in the North. Why you’re probably not
Frea tenderly turned to Wynnfrith. “I’ve had no word,” she said.
“Do you think he is alive?” Wynnfrith timidly asked.
“I think we would have heard great wailing all throughout Wealdland if the great, general boy, Arnwylf had died,” Frea coldly said.
“He’s hurt you,” Garmee Gamee plainly said to Frea.
Frea’s face betrayed her deep pain for only a moment, then a trained hardness returned to fix her features. “I welcome you, Garmee Gamee,” Frea said. “What do you want?”
Garmee Gamee looked blankly at Frea, sputtering, her mouth an open pitch hole. “I’m with her. So...” she finally got out pointing at Wynnfrith.
“Oh please,” Wynnfrith implored Frea, “hold nothing back. If you have heard even a request for provisions...”
“He has not responded to any of my letters,” Frea quietly said with downcast eyes.
“It may be the way of the wealdkin,” Garmee Gamee said. “We do not write flowery love missives. And he was raised by Alrhett and Wynnfrith, both wealdkin. And his father was of Reia. You, being of the Northern Kingdom of Man may not understand him at all.”
Frea quickly stood to face Garmee Gamee, who blankly stared with a look of practiced innocence.
Wynnfrith slowly rose. “If you hear anything, anything...” she said, her heart breaking. Then, Wynnfrith, like a ghost moved to the door and left.
“You may be right,” Frea said sitting again, staring at the floor. “It may be I do not understand him at all.”
“But you love him. So...” Garmee Gamee said, moving stealthily close.
“Yes,” Frea whispered to herself. Then Frea raised her face and wiped her tears. “But no one shall have sway over me, ever again. Ever.”
“Oh,” Garmee Gamee mewed, “because of what happened to you and that awful Ravensdred thing. You must have felt so helpless and weak. You must have been terrified. Everyone knows about it, and pities you. How embarrassing for you. I understand.”
Ronenth returned, composed. “I apologize for my outburst,” he gallantly said.
“No, no,” Frea said and rushed to hold his arms. “I am the one who should apologize, my dear, sweet Ronenth. Garmee Gamee, would you excuse us for a moment?”
Garmee Gamee rose and hurried to the edge of the courtyard where she found a young, ginger haired girl intently watching Frea and Ronenth.
“Hello,” Garmee Gamee said, tilting her head with practiced, false charm. “I am Garmee Gamee. Who are you?”
“Hetwing,” was all the young girl said.
And then Garmee Gamee followed Hetwing’s lovelorn gaze to where Frea and Ronenth held each other, and whispered quiet assurances to each other.
“Oh,” Garmee Gamee said to the fragile girl. “You love the Glaf boy. It seems he loves the princess of the Northern Kingdom of Man. Too bad for you.”
Hetwing broke into soul rending sobs, buried her face in her arm, and fled the courtyard.
Frea and Ronenth approached.
“Who was weeping?” Frea asked.
“No one,” Garmee Gamee said with a wrinkled smile.
Frea turned to Ronenth. “I am receiving Hetwing, daughter to Healfdene, king of Reia. I must see if she has arrived.”
“I will wait for you here,” Ronenth stoically said.
After Frea was gone Garmee Gamee said, “So you are Ronenth, the last of the Glafs.”
“Yes,” Ronenth said. “But, there are two other Glafs. But they are very old.”
“So you must never go to war,” Garmee Gamee said.
“Why?” Ronenth asked with a sudden scowl.
“It would mean the end of your people,” Garmee Gamee said with practiced innocence. “No one would doubt your courage or bravery. Why I’m sure no one needs your sword on the battle lines in Lanis or in the North. Why you’re probably not
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