Read Online Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2) by Ben Cassidy - Free Book Online Page B

Mountains, and Llewyllan controls it, along with the lucrative trade with the Spice Lands to the south.” He swished his brandy around in his glass. “Everyone else in Rothland knows that, and it’s for this reason that Llewyllan cannot afford to be lax. We’re a small fish in a big ocean, and the sharks are circling.”
    Kendril put his brandy back on the desk, and pushed it away. His eyes were guarded. “So what can be done, then?”
    Bathsby was silent for a moment. He wrapped his hands around the glass. Through the window the moon rose ever higher, its silver sheen filling the garden outside.
    “You have heard about Lord Whitmore and the princess?” he asked at last.
    Kendril felt a yawning hole form in his stomach. “No,” he said flatly.
    “Lord Whitmore,” said Bathsby slowly, “has asked Serentha to marry him. The King is in favor of the match, and it will undoubtedly take place. It is only a matter of time.”
    Kendril fell back into the chair. He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. “I didn’t know.”
    Bathsby shrugged. “I’m not surprised.” He leaned forward, playing with the glass in his hand. “Whitmore is a greater fool than the King,” he said quietly. “He’s never done a day of hard labor in his life. He knows nothing of science, or technology, or even war or diplomacy. If he is allowed to become King than Llewyllan will certainly die, or worse, be swallowed up by Calbraith.” A look of determination came into his eyes. “I can’t allow that to happen, Kendril. I am too much of a patriot to see my people devolve into impotence or servitude.”
    Kendril eyed the nobleman carefully. “So what do you intend to do?”
    There was a heartbeat of silence. Bathsby leaned back. “I intend to do whatever I can to ensure the safety of Llewyllan. Look what happened in Arbela. The merchant guilds overthrew the king completely, and now religious fanatics hold the nation in perpetual fear. I won’t allow things to get to that point here. Llewyllan needs a strong leader, one who understands where the world is going and what needs to be done here to make this nation powerful.” He lowered his voice. “There are many others who feel the same as I do, Kendril. Men in the army, and the government, who do not want to see Llewyllan fall into decay.”
    Kendril didn’t reply. From the hallway behind him the low undertone of voices had diminished to almost nothing.
    “I could use a man like you,” Bathsby continued in the same soft voice. “A simple soldier, like me. One who can see where the world is going, and what needs to be done.”
    “I have made vows to my order,” said Kendril.
    “For penance?” Bathsby gave a disarming shrug. “Perhaps it is time at last to find your repentance, Kendril, and put that cloak behind you. Here in Balneth you could really make a difference, start your whole life over again.”
    Kendril’s hands slowly clenched the sides of his chair. Outside a night breeze wafted through the garden and stirred the bushes.
    “You could spend it,” Bathsby continued, his fingertips pressed together, “with anyone you wanted.
    Kendril sat still for a few moments, then rose to his feet. “It’s late,” he said abruptly. “I should get to bed.”
    Bathsby nodded. “I still have some paperwork to attend to. Good evening, Mr. Kendril. I do hope you will consider what we have talked about.”
    The Ghostwalker turned without replying, walking out of the study and into the small hallway. He stopped midway, leaning against the wall and taking a few deep breaths, his eyes closed.
    “Why Mr. Kendril,” came a silky voice in front of him, “are you feeling all right?’
    He opened his eyes. There, standing in the darkness of the passage, was Bronwyn. Her amulet seemed to glow with an unnatural light.
    “I’m fine,” he said tersely. He pushed away from the wall. “I was just retiring for the evening.”
    Bronwyn stepped in front of him. “I was going to