Read Online The Shepherd of Weeds by Susannah Appelbaum - Free Book Online

once, a very long time ago.
    Through one of these very doors, at the end of a wide, dusty hall, sat a forlorn bookshelf. A winding staircase led down from the enchanted hallway to a small chamber strewn with stuff, memories of a discarded life.
    Against one wall was a wardrobe of massive proportions, decorated with intricate carvings by some ancient artisan. Guardian beasts and large soaring birds intermingled, each carrying a tattered, torn scroll, a fragment of illegible wording. Within the wardrobe hung untold dresses, in every color imaginable—a few even managing to be new, undiscoveredcolors—intricate gowns woven from magical looms by ancient haberdashers. But Clothilde passed these by without a glance.
    Against another wall, in discarded piles, were dozens of enormous leather-bound books, of the sort Axle (and Dumbcane) would consider priceless. These, her favorites, had been spared the ravishes of an evil fire. They were dust-covered and lonely, but Clothilde ignored these, too.
    At the very end of the vault was a chest that sat snugly between two enormous marble urns—one of dark Rocamadour stone, the other white—relics from her grandfather’s rule. Each was etched with small glyphs and scripts in the old tongue. The large trunk sprang open easily to her touch, and, gripping it on both sides, Clothilde peered inside.
    Soon she was rifling through the chest’s contents—jewels and amulets, a crown. Her silvery hair fell forward, and, annoyed, she paused to secure it—a flash of her gleaming hairpin. At the bottom of the chest, she found what she was looking for—a shrouded package.
    It was wrapped carefully in rich fabric, which she unfolded and allowed to fall to the floor. In her hands now, a saddle of exquisite beauty, to match the darkest blue sky and bejeweled with the very stars themselves. The saddle of her warhorse, Calyx.
    Smiling her particular unhappy smile, she wrapped the saddle again carefully, and the glowing stars were extinguishedbriefly beneath the weaving. In a corner, she retrieved her spear and a long coil of leather—her whip.
    The Tasters’ Guild, by all outward appearances, did not possess any weaknesses. But Clothilde knew better. Somewhere, she was sure, there was a crack in the mortar.
    Now, though, in the stables with her beloved stallion, as she spoke her gentle words, curiously, a small light—that of a golden star—pierced the blue velvet of her hem. It twinkled and glowed at the reunion of the two warriors. Its beam shone upon the bony ankles of the stallion, blinked against the dust motes and the rock wall. As she braided his mane and combed the knots from his long tail, a few more glowing pinpricks appeared on her gown, in the shape of one of Caux’s many constellations. From afar, the old stall twinkled and shone as Clothilde readied her steed.
    Here also, at the lonely end of the stables, lay a small, forgotten door. Its existence was unknown to nearly all but Clothilde—she had lived in Rocamadour and was privileged to the city’s many secrets.
    The trestleman Peps was not.

Chapter Eighteen
Peps’s Escape
    f entering the dark gates of Rocamadour uninvited was an impossibility, departing them without permission was an exercise in futility. Still, what choice did Peps D. Roux have? When Ivy and Rowan had left him for Pimcaux, in the depths of the catacombs beneath the city, he straightened his spine, flung back his stout shoulders, and set his tiny feet on the path to rescue his brother. Axle was imprisoned by the tyrannical Vidal Verjouce, and Peps needed urgently to get word to Cecil Manx.
    How was he to leave Rocamadour?
    Built by the Good King Verdigris, and intended as a place for apotheopathic learning, Rocamadour possessed defenses both vast and intimidating. The city itself sat against the Craggy Burls, and before it, like a long jagged carpet, were theancient spiked hawthorns that made up a thick—and enchanted—forest. The city wall was wide enough to