Read Online The Miscreant (An Assassin's Blade Book 2) by Justin DePaoli - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Justin DePaoli
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out of hiding.”
Nineteen years spent kicking around on this world and the girl had herself a disposition that could be mistaken for that of a wrinkly old queen who’d spent a lifetime on the throne. Forging alliances. Closing deals. Making proud kings tuck their cocks between their legs and waddle off as she coerced them into accepting her terms.
“You owe me a name, at the very least,” I said. “That we agreed on.”
“Mm. The conditions have changed.” Her face softened and she elbowed me playfully. “Oh, come on! Stop with that grouchy frown of yours. I’m not lying to you, I swear it. I don’t know the whole story, okay? It’s, um… been given to me in bits and pieces, and like I said, I didn’t even think it was true. I promise you there will be more information in Lith. So let’s get there and uncover the whole story, huh?”
I gazed out into the low boil of an ocean that lay beneath a blistering sun. Tiny fishing boats wobbled against the gurgling current, their nets riding up and over the crests of waves. Nice place to think, here at the water’s edge. Sure, you’ve got the smell of fish carcasses, empty, shattered shells of crabs and lobsters, and the boom of roughers who cursed and spat as often as a heart beats. But you also had a nice breeze in your face and the imperceptible vastness of the ocean before you. My thoughts, for once, lay still in my mind. Usually they scattered like baby spiders bursting from their egg sac.
And what did my thoughts tell me? That Braddock Glannondil was possibly burnt to a crisp. That I’d be branded a king slayer — and this time, not a just one. That I’d have a price on my head probably higher than that placed on Enton Daniser’s when the Taths of old intended on sacking Watchmen’s Bay. That my days of freedom on Mizridahl had ended.
Perhaps the most horrifying thought of all, though, involved Lysa Rabthorn. She was keeping secrets from me. Had she pulled this shit in Braddock’s war camp — threading me along, promising me more information — I’d have marked her an immature little girl wishing to instill fear into my heart. But Lysa had revealed herself to be smart. Calculating. Not some twerp who gets off on telling stories of big baddies just to evoke a response.
So why, then, wouldn’t she spill what she knew about this enigma in hiding? Why did she want to wait until she had the whole story at her fingertips? The obvious answer was the Tale of Took.
Took haunts the dreams of little boys and girls across Mizridahl. Parents often forbid their children from hearing the tale, but it inevitably passes from child to child, or down from mischievous grans.
As it goes, Took was cast down from the heavens for eating children, big and small alike. His punishment was to be cast into the deep bowels of Hell, but some say he never made it. And now he stalks the plains and the mountains and the rivers and the oceans of Mizridahl. He is a great shadow who sometimes takes the form of a fearsome cougar. Sometimes an enormous hawk. Sometimes even a ghoul. He waits in silence each night, until a child closes his or her eyes. Then he sneaks into their homes. He starts at the eyes, so they can’t see him. Then the throat, so they can’t scream. The more blood he drinks, the more ferocious he becomes.
At this point, the young’uns are usually on the verge of pissing themselves. So the story concludes with this: if you’re scared Took lurks about, open your eyes and look for him. He will scream in great pain as your gaze burns him and destroys his evil heart.
The lesson here is that the sum is so often less terrifying than each individual part. A malevolent being that not even the gods could cast away? Scary stuff there. And he eats children? Heart-stopping for a young’un. But, oh , we learn the seemingly invincible monster is defeated in such a simple fashion.
That, I worried, was what Lysa was looking for: a Took ending. An ending that would bring
Nineteen years spent kicking around on this world and the girl had herself a disposition that could be mistaken for that of a wrinkly old queen who’d spent a lifetime on the throne. Forging alliances. Closing deals. Making proud kings tuck their cocks between their legs and waddle off as she coerced them into accepting her terms.
“You owe me a name, at the very least,” I said. “That we agreed on.”
“Mm. The conditions have changed.” Her face softened and she elbowed me playfully. “Oh, come on! Stop with that grouchy frown of yours. I’m not lying to you, I swear it. I don’t know the whole story, okay? It’s, um… been given to me in bits and pieces, and like I said, I didn’t even think it was true. I promise you there will be more information in Lith. So let’s get there and uncover the whole story, huh?”
I gazed out into the low boil of an ocean that lay beneath a blistering sun. Tiny fishing boats wobbled against the gurgling current, their nets riding up and over the crests of waves. Nice place to think, here at the water’s edge. Sure, you’ve got the smell of fish carcasses, empty, shattered shells of crabs and lobsters, and the boom of roughers who cursed and spat as often as a heart beats. But you also had a nice breeze in your face and the imperceptible vastness of the ocean before you. My thoughts, for once, lay still in my mind. Usually they scattered like baby spiders bursting from their egg sac.
And what did my thoughts tell me? That Braddock Glannondil was possibly burnt to a crisp. That I’d be branded a king slayer — and this time, not a just one. That I’d have a price on my head probably higher than that placed on Enton Daniser’s when the Taths of old intended on sacking Watchmen’s Bay. That my days of freedom on Mizridahl had ended.
Perhaps the most horrifying thought of all, though, involved Lysa Rabthorn. She was keeping secrets from me. Had she pulled this shit in Braddock’s war camp — threading me along, promising me more information — I’d have marked her an immature little girl wishing to instill fear into my heart. But Lysa had revealed herself to be smart. Calculating. Not some twerp who gets off on telling stories of big baddies just to evoke a response.
So why, then, wouldn’t she spill what she knew about this enigma in hiding? Why did she want to wait until she had the whole story at her fingertips? The obvious answer was the Tale of Took.
Took haunts the dreams of little boys and girls across Mizridahl. Parents often forbid their children from hearing the tale, but it inevitably passes from child to child, or down from mischievous grans.
As it goes, Took was cast down from the heavens for eating children, big and small alike. His punishment was to be cast into the deep bowels of Hell, but some say he never made it. And now he stalks the plains and the mountains and the rivers and the oceans of Mizridahl. He is a great shadow who sometimes takes the form of a fearsome cougar. Sometimes an enormous hawk. Sometimes even a ghoul. He waits in silence each night, until a child closes his or her eyes. Then he sneaks into their homes. He starts at the eyes, so they can’t see him. Then the throat, so they can’t scream. The more blood he drinks, the more ferocious he becomes.
At this point, the young’uns are usually on the verge of pissing themselves. So the story concludes with this: if you’re scared Took lurks about, open your eyes and look for him. He will scream in great pain as your gaze burns him and destroys his evil heart.
The lesson here is that the sum is so often less terrifying than each individual part. A malevolent being that not even the gods could cast away? Scary stuff there. And he eats children? Heart-stopping for a young’un. But, oh , we learn the seemingly invincible monster is defeated in such a simple fashion.
That, I worried, was what Lysa was looking for: a Took ending. An ending that would bring
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