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

short “good night” before he descended the creaking stairs.
    Munkke-trophe and man were left in the darkness. Munkke-trophe spoke first.
    “Trying to win my crusty heart, eh?”
    “It was just in appreciation of having me along. Don’t expect it to keep up.”
    “Oh, I won’t, I won’t. And don’t you expect it in return.”
    “I never dreamed.”
    “Right. Tomorrow morning, then. If you sleep late, I leave without you.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    After this pleasant parley, Sirin disappeared into his room. Vancien, too, stepped inside, locking the door behind him. With distaste, he stripped off his dirty, blood-stained shirt. Had it really only been that morning that he had left N’vonne and Naffinar’s graves? Only last night his friends had been alive. Last night, he had known where he was going, what he was doing. Last night, he had believed Kynell favored him. Now here he was in this horrible tavern, the dependent companion of a belligerent munkke-trophe. Could things get any worse?
    He sighed. Logic compelled him to admit that yes, things could get worse. He could be dead. He could be broke. He could be without shelter and a fresh change of clothes. He eyed his pack, dumped gracelessly next to the bed. Nothing fancy, of course; Naffinar had promised to buy him a new wardrobe when they arrived in Lascombe. Naffinar. . .N’vonne. . .he bit his lip against his tears. What a stupid journey. What a colossal mistake. It must be a sign, or something. Some sort of vast tragedy to show him that he was meant to stay in little Win all of his life. Great dreams and great cities were not for him.
    Collapsing on the bed, he let his thoughts wander freely. Why was he continuing on to Lascombe? Surely he should have turned back and found some employment at home. But the thought of passing through the Eyestone Glade again made him shudder. Even worse was the mental picture of creeping back into town, blood and failure on his hands, desperate for work. He shook his head to dispel the image. He was determined to continue to the capital city, to find this friend of his uncle’s. What was his name again? He seemed to remember Naffinar telling it to N’vonne. It started with an “m.” No, an “s.”
    He was still pondering this when sleep claimed him.
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    “And when I was fourteen cycles, I was apprenticed to the Patroniite School of Thought Over Fantasy, where I proceeded to gain the highest marks in my class—”
    Telenar stopped the discourse with an impatient flick of his hand. “Enough. Your marks do not concern me, nor do your accomplishments. But you are a bright young man, I can see.”
    The youth nodded at the compliment. He had traveled far to meet with this priest and he was determined not to waste the trip. Yet the man was not easily impressed.
    “What would you like to know, Patronius?”
    Telenar shook his head. Cycles of searching and he still did not know what questions to ask. For seasons, he had assumed he would just know . Now he was not so sure.
    “Tell me about your home life. What was your mother like? Your father? Did you get along well with your brothers and sisters?”
    The candidate concentrated hard, as if describing his family were just another lesson to plow through. “My mother was a wonderful woman. It was she who taught me all of the great stories of Kynell and Zyreio. My father was a tanner. He worked most of the day. I am an only child.”
    Telenar groaned. “No brothers?”
    “Not that I know of, sir.”
    All of these cycles of searching, and he was finally beginning to get a sense of humor about it. “I suppose you haven’t asked your mother?”
    The boy did not catch the joke. “I assume she would have told me.”
    Telenar leaned back, assured that this lad, at least, was not the one. “Owahn, I’m sorry. The Ages are very clear that the Advocates are a pair of brothers.”
    Owahn’s heart sank. Now all that was left to him was an assistant