Read Online The Dread Wyrm (Traitor Son Cycle) by Miles Cameron - Free Book Online
Authors: Miles Cameron
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before Chevin was fought.”
“There’s now as much Wild inside the wall as outside,” Sauce went on.
Mag nodded. “I heard there’s as many folk living in the Wild as in the civilized lands,” she said. “The Wyrm—Master Smythe as is—said something to the point.” She smiled at Sauce. “So what’s the Wild? If’n folk live there? And what’s civilized?”
Sauce, who’d grown up as a whore, didn’t need that comment explained at all.
Because it was early spring, many of the trees were still bare, although there was a sort of green haze over the distant woods that suggested growth and budding. And there was no dust. The royal road under their hooves and wheels was stone. Sometimes it washed out and had to be repaired, and some of the patches could crumble but mostly it was hundreds of leagues of flat, straight road, wide enough for two wagons abreast.
Behind them on the road came the Drover’s household, a dozen mounted carls with heavy axes on their shoulders. Thanks to Tom, they rode instead of walked. They wore full mail and gleaming helmets, some of apparently eldritch design with tall peaks and long bills and scallops and whorls. Hillmen were much given to display. Gold glinted from their belts and harnesses.
Bad Tom made no move to ride up and join either Sauce or Mag.
“You going to speak to Tom about your Sukey?” Sauce asked.
“No,” Mag said, in a tone that suggested that no further discussion needed to be had on that subject.
Sauce considered riding out and inspecting her outriders.
She tried a different approach. “You ever consider what the captain’s actually after?” she asked Mag.
Mag smiled. It was her warmest smile of the day so far. “Yes,” she said softly. “All the time.”
Sauce shook her head ruefully. “I just want it to go on and on. Adventure after adventure. But he’s after somewhat, ain’t he?”
Mag nodded. “Yes, dear.”
Sauce turned and looked at the older woman. “Don’t patronize me,” she spat.
Mag rolled her eyes. “No. Sorry, sweet. But none of you think about it much. You just swing your swords and ride on, don’t you?” She looked north. “He’s made himself the Duke of Thrake.”
“But that’s not for real.” Sauce looked up at the older woman. “He’s not going to sit at Lonika and administer justice and be a great lord, is he?” In fact, she realized, she’d watched him do so for five days after the battle at the crossroads. As if he’d been born to it.
Which, of course, he had.
“Shit,” she said aloud.
“I think it is for real,” Mag said. “I think he’s made two fortunes in three years, and then he’s added a great principality which will, at least for a few years, pay his taxes—a steady income so great I can’t really imagine how much money he’ll have. And he sank his claws into the fur trade. He’s getting a tithe on the imperial tax on furs. He and his father now—literally—own the entire border with the Wild.”
“He hates his father,” Sauce said.
Mag looked interested. Everyone in the company knew that Sauce went way back with the captain, but few had the spirit to question her.
“Hate’s too strong,” Sauce admitted. “But his father and mother did something—awful. Rotten. An’ he ran away.” She looked at Mag. “He’s not just going to share the wall with them.”
Mag looked ahead at the line of trees. “Never is a long time,” she said slowly. “And power is even thicker than blood. Ser Gavin is in contact with Gabriel’s mother. I
know.
” She smiled fastidiously. “Gabriel’s mother is the most powerful of her kind I’ve ever encountered.” She frowned. “Except the former Richard Plangere. As great as Harmodius, but all green.”
Sauce frowned. “You mean all this—riding on errantry and rescuing princesses and getting contracts—it’s all just another play at power?” She spat. “Fuck. I don’t believe it.”
Mag laughed. “For the life you’ve led,
“There’s now as much Wild inside the wall as outside,” Sauce went on.
Mag nodded. “I heard there’s as many folk living in the Wild as in the civilized lands,” she said. “The Wyrm—Master Smythe as is—said something to the point.” She smiled at Sauce. “So what’s the Wild? If’n folk live there? And what’s civilized?”
Sauce, who’d grown up as a whore, didn’t need that comment explained at all.
Because it was early spring, many of the trees were still bare, although there was a sort of green haze over the distant woods that suggested growth and budding. And there was no dust. The royal road under their hooves and wheels was stone. Sometimes it washed out and had to be repaired, and some of the patches could crumble but mostly it was hundreds of leagues of flat, straight road, wide enough for two wagons abreast.
Behind them on the road came the Drover’s household, a dozen mounted carls with heavy axes on their shoulders. Thanks to Tom, they rode instead of walked. They wore full mail and gleaming helmets, some of apparently eldritch design with tall peaks and long bills and scallops and whorls. Hillmen were much given to display. Gold glinted from their belts and harnesses.
Bad Tom made no move to ride up and join either Sauce or Mag.
“You going to speak to Tom about your Sukey?” Sauce asked.
“No,” Mag said, in a tone that suggested that no further discussion needed to be had on that subject.
Sauce considered riding out and inspecting her outriders.
She tried a different approach. “You ever consider what the captain’s actually after?” she asked Mag.
Mag smiled. It was her warmest smile of the day so far. “Yes,” she said softly. “All the time.”
Sauce shook her head ruefully. “I just want it to go on and on. Adventure after adventure. But he’s after somewhat, ain’t he?”
Mag nodded. “Yes, dear.”
Sauce turned and looked at the older woman. “Don’t patronize me,” she spat.
Mag rolled her eyes. “No. Sorry, sweet. But none of you think about it much. You just swing your swords and ride on, don’t you?” She looked north. “He’s made himself the Duke of Thrake.”
“But that’s not for real.” Sauce looked up at the older woman. “He’s not going to sit at Lonika and administer justice and be a great lord, is he?” In fact, she realized, she’d watched him do so for five days after the battle at the crossroads. As if he’d been born to it.
Which, of course, he had.
“Shit,” she said aloud.
“I think it is for real,” Mag said. “I think he’s made two fortunes in three years, and then he’s added a great principality which will, at least for a few years, pay his taxes—a steady income so great I can’t really imagine how much money he’ll have. And he sank his claws into the fur trade. He’s getting a tithe on the imperial tax on furs. He and his father now—literally—own the entire border with the Wild.”
“He hates his father,” Sauce said.
Mag looked interested. Everyone in the company knew that Sauce went way back with the captain, but few had the spirit to question her.
“Hate’s too strong,” Sauce admitted. “But his father and mother did something—awful. Rotten. An’ he ran away.” She looked at Mag. “He’s not just going to share the wall with them.”
Mag looked ahead at the line of trees. “Never is a long time,” she said slowly. “And power is even thicker than blood. Ser Gavin is in contact with Gabriel’s mother. I
know.
” She smiled fastidiously. “Gabriel’s mother is the most powerful of her kind I’ve ever encountered.” She frowned. “Except the former Richard Plangere. As great as Harmodius, but all green.”
Sauce frowned. “You mean all this—riding on errantry and rescuing princesses and getting contracts—it’s all just another play at power?” She spat. “Fuck. I don’t believe it.”
Mag laughed. “For the life you’ve led,
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