Read Online The Sons of Hull by Lindsey Scholl - Free Book Online

than impressed. “Hah!” he snorted. “A child’s tale for the Child’s Pass!”
    “You don’t believe it?”
    “By the Plains, it’s not even that interesting of a story. ‘She laid down at the foot of the mountain to sleep.’ How quaint. Bah!” He made a dismissive gesture with his paw.
    “Then how else did the cleft get here?”
    “The munkke-trophes dug it out with their bare paws. I don’t know, bratling. I just know it’s here and I’m using it.”
    Vancien shook his head. Rather than argue, he began to inspect what he could of the magnificent surroundings, for his story had carried them full into the mouth of the famous pass itself. Apart from the sleek walls, it was quite different than what he had expected. In his dreams, he had always pictured it as the same bright green path the girl had discovered. If he had given it more thought, he would have realized that it would be a main thoroughfare by now, since it was the quickest link between Lascombe and the regions south of the Range. Taverns, inns, and shops lining the canyon walls filled his vision. The activity was not that of commerce, however; breach was upon them and in the Range, breach was just as dangerous as hiverra. No one stayed in the Pass through that season, since the snow could pile three times the height of a man. Everyone was breaking camp: women scurried about, collecting laundry and wages, men struggled with tent poles and rebellious voyoté, and children tried their best to get underfoot. Though the evening was fast deepening into night and many of the seasonal inhabitants had already departed, those who remained provided enough bustle to make the place look alive.
    Sirin stopped in front of a tavern. “I am positively parched. We will stop here for the night.”
    Vancien eyed the place with suspicion. It was flat up against the west wall, squeezed between an tin-repair shop and another inn. Its windows were shut up tight against the coming cold with dingy pieces of wood. The paint on its exterior walls was peeling and the front door hung limply open, giving the travelers a glimpse of a dark interior.
    “It doesn’t appear very safe.”
    “Bah! It’s perfectly safe, boy. A few drinks in you and all Rhyvelad will seem safe.”
    There was no help for it; the old creature was already maneuvering his cane up the squeaky steps. With a sigh, Vancien followed him.
    If the travelers had been fortunate enough to arrive at Child’s Pass in early autore, they would have found The Open Mouth filled to the brim with boisterous patrons and loud servers. As it was, they stepped inside to find only a snoring man in the corner and a barman too busy to help customers. All around were signs of boarding up against the coming snow. Tables were pushed into a corner with chairs stacked atop, crates of liquor awaited their journey south to warmer regions and even the fire was banked low to preserve fuel for the trip. As a result, the entire room was cast in shadows.
    This did not affect Sirin. Intent on his drink, he strode as well as he could up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. “Greetings, barman!”
    Positioned at the opposite end of the bar, the barman did not look up. “Bad timing you’ve got, Sirin. I’m plumb out of drink.”
    “You old fool, you’re never out of drink! Come now, a splash of fine vintage for me and, uh, a jug of barley wine for the lad.”
    Vancien shook his head. “Water, if you have it.”
    The barman finally finished packing a case of glasses and walked resignedly over to the pair. Behind him, wooden shelves stood empty, bereft of their seasonal weight. A bottle of Lascombe Pure here and a jug of afore-mentioned barley wine there was all that consisted of the tavern’s available store.
    “I think I can handle the water, boy. And Pure’s all we’ve got, Sirin.”
    The munkke-trophe sighed. “I suppose that will do, Stankley. And what of dinner? And a room?” He looked skeptically at Vancien. “Two,