Read Online The Brave Apprentice by P. W. Catanese - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: P. W. Catanese
Ads: Link
Mannon cry, “Where’s Gosling?”
Patch and Addison turned to look. Only Mannon and Ludowick were behind them. Mannon stopped and took a step back toward the hill. Ludowick seized his arm as he ran by and pulled him toward the horses. “Keep running!
Run!”
he screamed, and Patch saw tears streaming down Ludowick’s face.
Mannon resisted, pulling his arm free from Ludowick’s grip. The trolls came out of the forest and onto the road, just a hundred feet away. Some lumbered toward them, while others searched for more stones to hurl.
“He’s gone, Mannon. He was next to me, and then a stone came, and he was gone,” Ludowick shouted, andMannon staggered like a drunkard. Ludowick steadied him, then tugged his arm, and Mannon stumbled to his horse, his face slack. They mounted and raced away, leaving the bellowing trolls behind. The horses ran for a mile before Addison threw up his hand and they stopped. Addison whirled his horse around to face Patch, who bowed his head and stared at his hands.
“Milo insisted we bring you along, against my advice,” Addison said, his voice shaking only a little. “So I trust you’ll tell him what happened here today—and how we lost our chance to destroy the trolls. Or perhaps you’d rather take the road back to Crossfield.” He spurred his horse and rode alone toward Dartham.
Patch closed his eyes, and his shoulders hitched. He heard another horse come near, and Mannon’s voice, shattered by grief, came to his ear. “Gosling’s life, thrown away to save a fool. I’ll get you for this, apprentice. If I see you again, I swear I will.” Patch heard Mannon’s horse move on, the others following behind.
Patch waited. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone on the road.
the thump of the hooves could no longer be heard, Patch slid off his horse and vomited in the snow. He flopped on his back and drew his sleeve across his mouth. He cried out to Gosling, “I’m sorry!”
A sound caught his ear, and he looked up to see his horse trotting away without him, following the others down the road toward Dartham, already disappearing around a far bend in the road.
Oh, Mannon would have loved that,
he thought, and the mocking voice echoed in his brain:
Perhaps you’ll remember to tether your horse next time!
He rolled over and pounded the frozen ground with his fists until it hurt too much to go on. He got to his hands and knees, then stood on wobbling legs.
Which way?
he wondered. To the north were the trolls. To the south was Dartham, a shame he couldn’t bear to face, and a knight who’d sworn to murder him. Neither way would do.
Home,
he thought.
I’m going home. Wishthey’d never found me. Wish I’d never left.
He walked through the trees and onto the frozen lake.
Patch trudged across a dead landscape that an artist could have rendered by mixing only black and white paints. Gauzy sheets of snow curled and swept across the surface of the lake, revealing here and there the cracked gray ice below. The sky was an ugly leaden bowl clapped down over the world, spilling tiny flakes that were just now reaching the ground. The only visible color was on the cloak that Patch wore, a beautiful garment embroidered with purple. But the purple reminded him of the king and Dartham and Gosling, and he would have thrown the cloak aside if he didn’t need it to keep him warm. The same went for the boots, the gloves, and the other fine gifts he’d received.
The town of Shorham was somewhere on the other side. From there Patch could pick up the same road they’d come down. He’d follow it all the way back, up the river, past Half, and on to Crossfield and the little tailor’s shop.
He stopped, listening to a sound that was cutting through the whining breeze. He lowered his hood to hear it better.
“Hallooooo!”
Patch turned to see a tall, thin figure coming toward him, lifting his knees absurdly high as he ran and wavingmadly. When Patch recognized the fellow, he rolled his
Patch and Addison turned to look. Only Mannon and Ludowick were behind them. Mannon stopped and took a step back toward the hill. Ludowick seized his arm as he ran by and pulled him toward the horses. “Keep running!
Run!”
he screamed, and Patch saw tears streaming down Ludowick’s face.
Mannon resisted, pulling his arm free from Ludowick’s grip. The trolls came out of the forest and onto the road, just a hundred feet away. Some lumbered toward them, while others searched for more stones to hurl.
“He’s gone, Mannon. He was next to me, and then a stone came, and he was gone,” Ludowick shouted, andMannon staggered like a drunkard. Ludowick steadied him, then tugged his arm, and Mannon stumbled to his horse, his face slack. They mounted and raced away, leaving the bellowing trolls behind. The horses ran for a mile before Addison threw up his hand and they stopped. Addison whirled his horse around to face Patch, who bowed his head and stared at his hands.
“Milo insisted we bring you along, against my advice,” Addison said, his voice shaking only a little. “So I trust you’ll tell him what happened here today—and how we lost our chance to destroy the trolls. Or perhaps you’d rather take the road back to Crossfield.” He spurred his horse and rode alone toward Dartham.
Patch closed his eyes, and his shoulders hitched. He heard another horse come near, and Mannon’s voice, shattered by grief, came to his ear. “Gosling’s life, thrown away to save a fool. I’ll get you for this, apprentice. If I see you again, I swear I will.” Patch heard Mannon’s horse move on, the others following behind.
Patch waited. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone on the road.
the thump of the hooves could no longer be heard, Patch slid off his horse and vomited in the snow. He flopped on his back and drew his sleeve across his mouth. He cried out to Gosling, “I’m sorry!”
A sound caught his ear, and he looked up to see his horse trotting away without him, following the others down the road toward Dartham, already disappearing around a far bend in the road.
Oh, Mannon would have loved that,
he thought, and the mocking voice echoed in his brain:
Perhaps you’ll remember to tether your horse next time!
He rolled over and pounded the frozen ground with his fists until it hurt too much to go on. He got to his hands and knees, then stood on wobbling legs.
Which way?
he wondered. To the north were the trolls. To the south was Dartham, a shame he couldn’t bear to face, and a knight who’d sworn to murder him. Neither way would do.
Home,
he thought.
I’m going home. Wishthey’d never found me. Wish I’d never left.
He walked through the trees and onto the frozen lake.
Patch trudged across a dead landscape that an artist could have rendered by mixing only black and white paints. Gauzy sheets of snow curled and swept across the surface of the lake, revealing here and there the cracked gray ice below. The sky was an ugly leaden bowl clapped down over the world, spilling tiny flakes that were just now reaching the ground. The only visible color was on the cloak that Patch wore, a beautiful garment embroidered with purple. But the purple reminded him of the king and Dartham and Gosling, and he would have thrown the cloak aside if he didn’t need it to keep him warm. The same went for the boots, the gloves, and the other fine gifts he’d received.
The town of Shorham was somewhere on the other side. From there Patch could pick up the same road they’d come down. He’d follow it all the way back, up the river, past Half, and on to Crossfield and the little tailor’s shop.
He stopped, listening to a sound that was cutting through the whining breeze. He lowered his hood to hear it better.
“Hallooooo!”
Patch turned to see a tall, thin figure coming toward him, lifting his knees absurdly high as he ran and wavingmadly. When Patch recognized the fellow, he rolled his
Similar Books
