Read Online The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) by Victoria Grefer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Grefer
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We’ll be
able to chat. Thirteen years…. There’s much to talk about.”
“Much,” Vane
agreed. He felt surer of himself, with that introduction going as well as it
had. He even hoped that one or two of the people in the bustle all around
belonged to Evant Linstrom. If so, they might prove viable witnesses of
Rickard’s familial relationship with Ryne Howar.
Vane left
his bag at the bakery, and though his mind was distracted, his stomach felt
normal enough that he ate most of his loaf mechanically as he sat on a bench
off the high road, anticipating his next move. Now that Howar could verify
Vane’s cover story if pressed upon, Vane needed to see Evant Linstrom. Best to
speak with the man as soon as possible.
When Vane
realized he had eaten enough bread to constitute a decent breakfast, he tossed
the remainder of the loaf to some pigeons that had gathered near the stoop of a
general store. Then he continued up the cobblestone street in the direction of
the cobbler’s workshop. The sun was low yet, the morning mild for summer. Had
Vane come to Partsvale on other business, he would have taken the time to
appreciate the quaint yet bustling scene and the scent of roasting bacon that
enticed passersby through an open tavern window. As things were, Vane hurried
as he climbed the twisting road, anxious to get the meeting behind him, running
prayers for wisdom through his head as he went.
The
cobbler’s shop wasn’t difficult to find, a five minutes’ walk away. Vane hoped
Linstrom would be at work, and was relieved when he peered through an
uncurtained pane in the wooden wall to see two men seated on stools, deep in
conversation as they fixed new soles to boots from a stack piled between them.
The first looked close to Vane’s age, around thirty. His height was average and
his eyes a piercing gray. He tied his thick black hair at the base of his neck
in a style the duke associated with nobility; this sorcerer—this Evant
Linstrom—had an ego, then. His most striking feature, to Vane’s eye, was
the crooked nose Gratton had mentioned. Someone had broken it in time past.
The other
man was taller and a bit less stocky. He seemed a few years older than his
fellow, and fairly bristled with pent-up energy. He had auburn hair, much like
Vane’s when Vane was not enchanted, and a bushy beard he clearly took pride in
keeping groomed. Though his clothing was patched and not of the quality of
Linstrom’s, Vane’s first impression was that of an individual he would be
foolish to antagonize.
Before Vane
could reconsider or doubt his plan, he barged through the door. The cobblers
fell silent, and Linstrom turned his head to the newcomer, exasperated. “You a
pilgrim? We’re finishing old jobs. Don’t open to take new ones for two hours.”
Vane said,
“I’m here on other business. My cousin sent me to an Evant Linstrom. He’s an
associate of yours, he said. You know Ryne Howar?”
That piqued
Linstrom’s interest; his air of bother waned. “I see,” he said. He threw the
boot he held to the floor and rose to shake Vane’s hand. “Let’s talk in the
storeroom, shall we? Terrance, bolt the front door and join us.”
So Vane had
been right to judge the second cobbler Linstrom’s accomplice; Gratton had
warned one worked with him.
The poorly
clad Terrance took little time to follow Linstrom and Vane into a large closet.
Shelves held scraps of leather, while awls and other tools hung from hooks on
the walls. The room lacked furniture or any place to sit, so the men stood.
Linstrom lit
a wall lamp with an incantation before he swung the door shut with
another— Mudar , one of the first
Vane had learned—and cast a sound barrier that made the closet glow
yellow. Vane’s heart was beating faster than usual, and sweat broke out on the
back of his neck. The leather’s odor was sickening.
Linstrom
demanded, “You’re Howar’s cousin? What has he told you?”
“Only that I
should speak with you. Thinks
able to chat. Thirteen years…. There’s much to talk about.”
“Much,” Vane
agreed. He felt surer of himself, with that introduction going as well as it
had. He even hoped that one or two of the people in the bustle all around
belonged to Evant Linstrom. If so, they might prove viable witnesses of
Rickard’s familial relationship with Ryne Howar.
Vane left
his bag at the bakery, and though his mind was distracted, his stomach felt
normal enough that he ate most of his loaf mechanically as he sat on a bench
off the high road, anticipating his next move. Now that Howar could verify
Vane’s cover story if pressed upon, Vane needed to see Evant Linstrom. Best to
speak with the man as soon as possible.
When Vane
realized he had eaten enough bread to constitute a decent breakfast, he tossed
the remainder of the loaf to some pigeons that had gathered near the stoop of a
general store. Then he continued up the cobblestone street in the direction of
the cobbler’s workshop. The sun was low yet, the morning mild for summer. Had
Vane come to Partsvale on other business, he would have taken the time to
appreciate the quaint yet bustling scene and the scent of roasting bacon that
enticed passersby through an open tavern window. As things were, Vane hurried
as he climbed the twisting road, anxious to get the meeting behind him, running
prayers for wisdom through his head as he went.
The
cobbler’s shop wasn’t difficult to find, a five minutes’ walk away. Vane hoped
Linstrom would be at work, and was relieved when he peered through an
uncurtained pane in the wooden wall to see two men seated on stools, deep in
conversation as they fixed new soles to boots from a stack piled between them.
The first looked close to Vane’s age, around thirty. His height was average and
his eyes a piercing gray. He tied his thick black hair at the base of his neck
in a style the duke associated with nobility; this sorcerer—this Evant
Linstrom—had an ego, then. His most striking feature, to Vane’s eye, was
the crooked nose Gratton had mentioned. Someone had broken it in time past.
The other
man was taller and a bit less stocky. He seemed a few years older than his
fellow, and fairly bristled with pent-up energy. He had auburn hair, much like
Vane’s when Vane was not enchanted, and a bushy beard he clearly took pride in
keeping groomed. Though his clothing was patched and not of the quality of
Linstrom’s, Vane’s first impression was that of an individual he would be
foolish to antagonize.
Before Vane
could reconsider or doubt his plan, he barged through the door. The cobblers
fell silent, and Linstrom turned his head to the newcomer, exasperated. “You a
pilgrim? We’re finishing old jobs. Don’t open to take new ones for two hours.”
Vane said,
“I’m here on other business. My cousin sent me to an Evant Linstrom. He’s an
associate of yours, he said. You know Ryne Howar?”
That piqued
Linstrom’s interest; his air of bother waned. “I see,” he said. He threw the
boot he held to the floor and rose to shake Vane’s hand. “Let’s talk in the
storeroom, shall we? Terrance, bolt the front door and join us.”
So Vane had
been right to judge the second cobbler Linstrom’s accomplice; Gratton had
warned one worked with him.
The poorly
clad Terrance took little time to follow Linstrom and Vane into a large closet.
Shelves held scraps of leather, while awls and other tools hung from hooks on
the walls. The room lacked furniture or any place to sit, so the men stood.
Linstrom lit
a wall lamp with an incantation before he swung the door shut with
another— Mudar , one of the first
Vane had learned—and cast a sound barrier that made the closet glow
yellow. Vane’s heart was beating faster than usual, and sweat broke out on the
back of his neck. The leather’s odor was sickening.
Linstrom
demanded, “You’re Howar’s cousin? What has he told you?”
“Only that I
should speak with you. Thinks
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