Read Online The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2 by Matt Thomas - Free Book Online

first time in days the sky was clear and piercing streams of sunlight settled on the green. The air was still cool, but not on the uncomfortable side. The horse was eager to run so he took paths that cut through the wood. Peyennar had its share of wonders, the open woodland just one of them. As he knifed through the trees, he soaked in the wind. He passed through the clearing where Jisel Altaer’s house stood and galloped on. He had a feeling the bay was showing off its paces. His strides were long and powerful but still light on its feet.
    That was when the name came to him.
    Delighted, he let the steed roll on unchecked. The bay would have stood out in Ingram’s yard with its height, glossy coat, and muscular build. Luc was more than just a little disappointed when he reached the fertile highlands home to the dense Acriel orchards. It was hard to picture a more perfect day. Peyennar had always seemed to exist in a perpetual state outside of time and memory. Memory flowed in the skies above, but the Peaks and mountain air gave the region a far-off, mystic feel. He was going to have to steel himself if he was going to leave it.
    “Seems we had the same idea,” a voice said. Luc drew rein and glanced over his shoulder. A man was approaching on foot. He wore a forest green cloak and clothing cut in a formal fashion, coat long and trim and buttoned from below the throat all the way to the knees. There was something odd about his silvery hair and smooth features, but Luc couldn’t quite place it. He thought he had seen the man around the Shoulder, just before the Earthbound attack. Maybe a few times since then.
    “Afternoon,” the man said as Luc came to a stop. The bow he gave Luc was considerable. “A good day for on outing, I think. These are lush fields. Quite breathtaking. I could do without the melting snow, though,” he added with a glance at his boots.
    Curious, Luc dismounted. He extended a hand in greeting more out of courtesy than any desire to exchange pleasantries. Something about the man seemed a little too refined for his liking, though Amreal had always cautioned him about judgments made in haste. “Luc Anaris,” he introduced.
    Shaking his hand, the man gave him a sidelong look. “Those days are gone, my Lord. I already know your name, but Viamar-Ellandor suits you best in these parts. I am known as Gaelin. Gaelin Denail.”
    Luc raised an eyebrow but chose to let the observation pass. “Is this your first time in Peyennar?” he asked.
    “No, though it’s been some years since my last visit.” The man tucked his thumbs into his belt. “In truth, I have been waiting for the right time to make your acquaintance. It seems Altris was with me today. I gather you are here to see the young Master Acriel. I would like a word with him as well. May I join you?”
    “Sure.” He was not sure what else to say.
    The Acriel house was one of the more elaborate in Peyennar. Allard Acriel was a gifted man of more than one trade. His home stood two stories high and had a wide porch at the entrance. Master Acriel did most of his brewing around back in an attached distillery, likely modest by Ancaidan standards. Tying off the reins to the front railing, he climbed the steps two at a time and knocked. Feeling the stranger’s eyes on him, he decided there was definitely something significant about the man, but could not place it. Maybe it was the voice, intellectual and knowing. There was a hint of Imrail in the man—the presence, at least. Luc could not decide. He had little knowledge of the great cities or their peoples, but this one definitely struck him as more than a touch urbane.
    It turned out Rew’s folks were not at home. Nella Acriel met them at the door. On seeing the two of them, her face split in surprise and she gave him a tug that nearly yanked him off his feet. “Come in, come in.” She grimaced and restarted. “Good afternoon, my Lords. Forgive me, I’m still not used to—”
    “You’re