Read Online The Way Into Chaos by Harry Connolly - Free Book Online
Authors: Harry Connolly
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said.
Bullying? Clearly, the girl didn’t understand what it meant to command. Tejohn took the dart in his good hand and held the point a few handwidths from the driver’s belly. “What is your name?”
The calm in Tejohn’s voice seemed to capture his attention. “Wimnel Farrabell, my tyr.”
Both men watched the prince move below the cart and out of sight, his quiver full of darts jangling. The Freewell boy climbed on after him. Tejohn’s guts were bound as tightly as a criminal bound for the gibbet but he kept his voice calm. “Farrabell, eh? The Farrabells were Sixth Festival, as I recall. Tyrs in the west?”
“It was the west then, my tyr, but it’s all Waterlands now. My people were nobles, chieftains, and generals until the Battle of the Fish Pens. Stripped of our rank, my tyr, but always loyal.”
Tejohn knew the story. “Loyal but not brave,” Tejohn said. The Bendertuk boy went over the rail onto the rope. “With a good name to secure a safe, cushy job for you.”
The driver took a deep, shaky breath. “I will do my duty, my tyr. I will.”
“Then teach this girl how to operate these levers,” Tejohn said, “I want someone to know how to fly the prince to safety if I have to ram this spike into your heart.”
Chapter 6
Cazia couldn’t help it; the idea of learning to fly a cart thrilled her.
Then she saw Lar scrabble across the gray tiles and she flushed with shame. He slipped and fell to one knee but quickly regained his footing, heading toward the chimneys at the front of the building. His red coat looked almost comical, and she wished he’d chosen something that would not stand out like a rose in the grass. Col followed close behind; Timush must have been still climbing on the rope.
She couldn’t look away from them. Yes, she’d just been promised a lesson in flying-- flying --but the one person she loved most in the world, her own brother, had just rushed onto a battlefield—and he’d brought his two best friends. A strange feeling she couldn’t identify filled her like wind blowing into a tent. She felt hollow and fragile, as though the next misfortune would make her pop like a bit of froth, destroying her completely.
This is the feeling that comes just before grief. You are about to see your brother murdered in front of you because he is trying to be a hero which is your fault because this was your idea. This is how you feel just before grief overwhelms you and makes you wish you could die with him.
The screams from below became more intense, distracting her. The creatures tore through the crowd, knocking people about like brooms. Each victim received a terrible bite wound, some instantly fatal but not all, as the monsters battered their way through the mob. Men, women, and children fell before them. One of the city guard pushed against the surging mob in an effort to shut the Little Gate, but there was no hope of that.
Lar scrambled toward the chimneys at the front of the house. As he moved, he started to strip off that long, gaudy coat, but it tangled on the strap of his quiver.
“Here!” Col yelled. He slid out of his gray-and-red jacket, then tossed it to the prince. Lar held it by the collar and let the hem hang over the far edge of the roof where Cazia could not see. A moment later, the two of them heaved it back up but, only now it had a girl clinging to it.
It was the Indregai princess: pale, tiny, and severe in her white house robe. Cazia knew she was a few years older than Jagia, but she looked shockingly young. The princess scrambled handily onto the peak of the roof, then began chattering at the prince, pointing back the way she’d come.
Lar did not seem not interested in taking orders. He scrambled to his feet, pulling Colchua upright with him. Timush shouted at them, waving them back toward the dangling tether, and Cazia hissed at the noise he was making. Lar practically shoved the princess toward the cart, and a renewed chorus of screams
Bullying? Clearly, the girl didn’t understand what it meant to command. Tejohn took the dart in his good hand and held the point a few handwidths from the driver’s belly. “What is your name?”
The calm in Tejohn’s voice seemed to capture his attention. “Wimnel Farrabell, my tyr.”
Both men watched the prince move below the cart and out of sight, his quiver full of darts jangling. The Freewell boy climbed on after him. Tejohn’s guts were bound as tightly as a criminal bound for the gibbet but he kept his voice calm. “Farrabell, eh? The Farrabells were Sixth Festival, as I recall. Tyrs in the west?”
“It was the west then, my tyr, but it’s all Waterlands now. My people were nobles, chieftains, and generals until the Battle of the Fish Pens. Stripped of our rank, my tyr, but always loyal.”
Tejohn knew the story. “Loyal but not brave,” Tejohn said. The Bendertuk boy went over the rail onto the rope. “With a good name to secure a safe, cushy job for you.”
The driver took a deep, shaky breath. “I will do my duty, my tyr. I will.”
“Then teach this girl how to operate these levers,” Tejohn said, “I want someone to know how to fly the prince to safety if I have to ram this spike into your heart.”
Chapter 6
Cazia couldn’t help it; the idea of learning to fly a cart thrilled her.
Then she saw Lar scrabble across the gray tiles and she flushed with shame. He slipped and fell to one knee but quickly regained his footing, heading toward the chimneys at the front of the building. His red coat looked almost comical, and she wished he’d chosen something that would not stand out like a rose in the grass. Col followed close behind; Timush must have been still climbing on the rope.
She couldn’t look away from them. Yes, she’d just been promised a lesson in flying-- flying --but the one person she loved most in the world, her own brother, had just rushed onto a battlefield—and he’d brought his two best friends. A strange feeling she couldn’t identify filled her like wind blowing into a tent. She felt hollow and fragile, as though the next misfortune would make her pop like a bit of froth, destroying her completely.
This is the feeling that comes just before grief. You are about to see your brother murdered in front of you because he is trying to be a hero which is your fault because this was your idea. This is how you feel just before grief overwhelms you and makes you wish you could die with him.
The screams from below became more intense, distracting her. The creatures tore through the crowd, knocking people about like brooms. Each victim received a terrible bite wound, some instantly fatal but not all, as the monsters battered their way through the mob. Men, women, and children fell before them. One of the city guard pushed against the surging mob in an effort to shut the Little Gate, but there was no hope of that.
Lar scrambled toward the chimneys at the front of the house. As he moved, he started to strip off that long, gaudy coat, but it tangled on the strap of his quiver.
“Here!” Col yelled. He slid out of his gray-and-red jacket, then tossed it to the prince. Lar held it by the collar and let the hem hang over the far edge of the roof where Cazia could not see. A moment later, the two of them heaved it back up but, only now it had a girl clinging to it.
It was the Indregai princess: pale, tiny, and severe in her white house robe. Cazia knew she was a few years older than Jagia, but she looked shockingly young. The princess scrambled handily onto the peak of the roof, then began chattering at the prince, pointing back the way she’d come.
Lar did not seem not interested in taking orders. He scrambled to his feet, pulling Colchua upright with him. Timush shouted at them, waving them back toward the dangling tether, and Cazia hissed at the noise he was making. Lar practically shoved the princess toward the cart, and a renewed chorus of screams
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