Read Online The King's Bastard by Rowena Cory Daniells - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rowena Cory Daniells
Tags: Fantasy
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asked. 'Give it to me. I'll take it back to the abbey.'
Fyn handed the bundle over. 'Careful, something's wrong with its wing and I think one of its legs broke when it hit the ice.'
'So the kingson is a healer now?' Galestorm asked.
The weapons master frowned. 'Enough, Galestorm. I want the sleds packed and ready to leave at first light. Fyn, get back to the abbey.'
For a heartbeat Fyn considered revealing how the bird had been hurt, but it was his word against four monks and they could cause trouble for him later, so he hurried off. Behind him, Fyn could hear the weapons master ordering Galestorm and the others about and knew they would regret failing in their duties.
Monk Sandbank was already three body lengths ahead of him, following the winding trail up the slope to Halcyon Abbey. As Fyn watched, the healer rounded a curve, disappearing behind snow-cloaked evergreens.
Taking to his heels, Fyn ran up the slope, rounded the corner and looked up. No sign of the healer, who must have been hurrying to pass the next bend so quickly. Head down, Fyn concentrated on where he put his feet, not wanting to slip on the icy snow. Already the chill of the night was settling in and he was without a cloak. He rounded the next bend and nearly ploughed into a snowdrift.
That was strange. He didn't remember stepping off the path.
Fyn spun around only to find himself eye to eye with an old woman wearing moth-eaten furs. Her lips pulled back in a gap-toothed leer that might have been a smile.
Startled, he took a step back, overbalancing into the snowdrift. The snow broke the impact of his fall but he was still a little winded. Gasping, he lay stretched out on his back. When he went to get up the old woman prodded him in the chest with her staff, effectively pinning him there.
'You struck a monk.'
'He tried to kill a grucrane.'
'What's that bird to you?'
What indeed? Fyn shook his head, not even sure why he had bothered to answer her the first time. She was obviously mad, god-touched in her own way.
'No idea, just like the other one.' She shook her head and laughed to herself. It wasn't a pleasant sound, ending in a raw hacking cough.
After the fit had passed, while she was labouring to regain her breath, Fyn gestured up the rise behind him. 'If you are ill, seek out the healing monks. They have a hot potion for a cough like that.'
She glanced up behind him. The light was fading rapidly and he could hardly see her face for the glow of the nacreous sky behind her. Here, under the pines, it was already twilight.
Alert black eyes fixed on him. 'Most surely they do, Fyn Kingson, but not for the likes of me. No, not them pure and mighty servants of Halcyon!'
He did not know what to say to that.
'Not much longer.' She hawked and spat to one side, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Obviously weary and ill, her eyes met his and held. 'Now, mark my words, Fyn Kingson.'
Her body jerked and her head tilted back until he could see the lines of dirt under her chin.
Fyn drew away in revulsion as an aura of power gathered around her frail form, making her seem larger. Even with his weak Affinity, Fyn could tell this was the untamed power of a Renegade.
'A seer!' He tried to scramble back, but the snowdrift held him. He should have been terrified. He should have denounced her to the mystics master, who would have ordered her immediate execution.
But he was fascinated, despite himself.
One clawed hand lifted to point at him, though from the angle of her head she could not see him. She was relying on Unseen sight.
'Unwanted youngest son, god-touched, nameless boy. I see you fleeing for your life. I see a day when the Goddess Halcyon's name is said only in whispers -'
Fyn laughed. He could not help it. The goddess was revered throughout Rolencia, served by seven hundred faithful monks in the abbey alone, all trained by the weapons master, sheltered behind defensive walls, built into the very mountain itself. Nothing
Fyn handed the bundle over. 'Careful, something's wrong with its wing and I think one of its legs broke when it hit the ice.'
'So the kingson is a healer now?' Galestorm asked.
The weapons master frowned. 'Enough, Galestorm. I want the sleds packed and ready to leave at first light. Fyn, get back to the abbey.'
For a heartbeat Fyn considered revealing how the bird had been hurt, but it was his word against four monks and they could cause trouble for him later, so he hurried off. Behind him, Fyn could hear the weapons master ordering Galestorm and the others about and knew they would regret failing in their duties.
Monk Sandbank was already three body lengths ahead of him, following the winding trail up the slope to Halcyon Abbey. As Fyn watched, the healer rounded a curve, disappearing behind snow-cloaked evergreens.
Taking to his heels, Fyn ran up the slope, rounded the corner and looked up. No sign of the healer, who must have been hurrying to pass the next bend so quickly. Head down, Fyn concentrated on where he put his feet, not wanting to slip on the icy snow. Already the chill of the night was settling in and he was without a cloak. He rounded the next bend and nearly ploughed into a snowdrift.
That was strange. He didn't remember stepping off the path.
Fyn spun around only to find himself eye to eye with an old woman wearing moth-eaten furs. Her lips pulled back in a gap-toothed leer that might have been a smile.
Startled, he took a step back, overbalancing into the snowdrift. The snow broke the impact of his fall but he was still a little winded. Gasping, he lay stretched out on his back. When he went to get up the old woman prodded him in the chest with her staff, effectively pinning him there.
'You struck a monk.'
'He tried to kill a grucrane.'
'What's that bird to you?'
What indeed? Fyn shook his head, not even sure why he had bothered to answer her the first time. She was obviously mad, god-touched in her own way.
'No idea, just like the other one.' She shook her head and laughed to herself. It wasn't a pleasant sound, ending in a raw hacking cough.
After the fit had passed, while she was labouring to regain her breath, Fyn gestured up the rise behind him. 'If you are ill, seek out the healing monks. They have a hot potion for a cough like that.'
She glanced up behind him. The light was fading rapidly and he could hardly see her face for the glow of the nacreous sky behind her. Here, under the pines, it was already twilight.
Alert black eyes fixed on him. 'Most surely they do, Fyn Kingson, but not for the likes of me. No, not them pure and mighty servants of Halcyon!'
He did not know what to say to that.
'Not much longer.' She hawked and spat to one side, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Obviously weary and ill, her eyes met his and held. 'Now, mark my words, Fyn Kingson.'
Her body jerked and her head tilted back until he could see the lines of dirt under her chin.
Fyn drew away in revulsion as an aura of power gathered around her frail form, making her seem larger. Even with his weak Affinity, Fyn could tell this was the untamed power of a Renegade.
'A seer!' He tried to scramble back, but the snowdrift held him. He should have been terrified. He should have denounced her to the mystics master, who would have ordered her immediate execution.
But he was fascinated, despite himself.
One clawed hand lifted to point at him, though from the angle of her head she could not see him. She was relying on Unseen sight.
'Unwanted youngest son, god-touched, nameless boy. I see you fleeing for your life. I see a day when the Goddess Halcyon's name is said only in whispers -'
Fyn laughed. He could not help it. The goddess was revered throughout Rolencia, served by seven hundred faithful monks in the abbey alone, all trained by the weapons master, sheltered behind defensive walls, built into the very mountain itself. Nothing
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