Read Online Veiled Empire by Nathan Garrison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nathan Garrison
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farm girl, unable to choose between lovers and causing all sort of trouble for it. The crowd is full of people just off from their day’s labors, eager to ease their tired backs with an ale in hand and a song in the air. I see the tears in their eyes, unshed yet brimming, for the song tells of innocence, of peace, and allows them, for a few brief moments, to forget that they live in a land that has all but forgotten these things.
“ That is the difference. You don’t see it because you’re not one of us. I don’t blame you, though. I guess it’s not your fault. Not really. They’ve had their claws in you since birth.”
Her words sank into him, each a lance of ice to his soul. He rubbed his chin. Is she right? Am I truly so set apart from the very people I risk my life to protect?
More importantly: Does it matter?
The thought gnawed at him as the two of them followed the front half of the Fist into the first turn. Too soon, they made the second.
The fortress at the heart of Thorull loomed before them. Its blackened stone walls soared nearly twice as high as the city’s outer perimeter. The tips of crossbow bolts peeked out of half a hundred murder holes, and halberdiers by the scores stood at attention along the gated entrance.
Idrus waited just inside. As the Fist moved off to the stables and began dismounting, Mevon grabbed Jasside’s reins and whistled once, which brought them both to a halt two paces from his ranger captain. “Report.”
“It’s bad,” Idrus said.
“I gathered that. The watch sergeant told me they stripped four out of every five soldiers stationed in the city. Any more word? Have the country garrisons been affected as well?”
“It’s worse than that. The general is in there with the prefect, and it sounds like they may be mobilizing the entire Host.”
“The prefect? You mean this isn’t just a military matter?”
“Afraid not.”
Mevon turned as his other two captains rode up alongside them. “You heard?”
“Enough of it,” said Tolvar. “Scorch me, looks like it’ll be a short leash indeed.”
“Very,” Mevon said.
“I feel for the elegant ladies of the Feathered Dollhouse.” Arozir sighed. “They may have to wait a bit longer for our most dubious presence, I’m afraid.”
“Right.” Mevon turned to Idrus again. “Anything else I should know before I head in?”
“Well . . . there is one thing, but it might be nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s about the other Hardohl. They seem to be . . . missing.”
“What? Both of them?”
Idrus raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “That’s all I know. It might be I heard wrong.”
“Not likely.” Mevon dismounted. He reached to lift Jasside out of her saddle, a mere featherweight bound at the hands and ankles by coarse ropes. She had an oddly thoughtful look on her face as he reached with a knife to undo her lower bindings.
“You’re taking her with you?” Idrus asked.
“I might as well. The sooner she’s out of our hands, the better.”
All three captains gave each other pointed looks, as if they were concerned parents deciding whether to let their child out for the evening. Mevon did his best to ignore their “affections,” since such instincts served so well on the battlefield. After a few moments of that eerie silent communication they seemed to cherish, they nodded to each other.
“Very well,” Arozir said.
“Be careful in there,” added Tolvar.
Idrus guided a hand to Quake’s neck and guided the horse away. Tolvar and Arozir followed, leading their own mounts. Mevon grabbed Jasside by the upper arm and marched her up the onyx steps to the prefect’s receiving chamber.
He came to the thick door and cast a glance at the two daeloth guards. Three purple lines, like ragged claw marks, adorned their black tabards, marking them as members of the prefect’s own darkwatch. One quickly turned to grasp the handle, saying, “You’re expected.”
Mevon marched in
“ That is the difference. You don’t see it because you’re not one of us. I don’t blame you, though. I guess it’s not your fault. Not really. They’ve had their claws in you since birth.”
Her words sank into him, each a lance of ice to his soul. He rubbed his chin. Is she right? Am I truly so set apart from the very people I risk my life to protect?
More importantly: Does it matter?
The thought gnawed at him as the two of them followed the front half of the Fist into the first turn. Too soon, they made the second.
The fortress at the heart of Thorull loomed before them. Its blackened stone walls soared nearly twice as high as the city’s outer perimeter. The tips of crossbow bolts peeked out of half a hundred murder holes, and halberdiers by the scores stood at attention along the gated entrance.
Idrus waited just inside. As the Fist moved off to the stables and began dismounting, Mevon grabbed Jasside’s reins and whistled once, which brought them both to a halt two paces from his ranger captain. “Report.”
“It’s bad,” Idrus said.
“I gathered that. The watch sergeant told me they stripped four out of every five soldiers stationed in the city. Any more word? Have the country garrisons been affected as well?”
“It’s worse than that. The general is in there with the prefect, and it sounds like they may be mobilizing the entire Host.”
“The prefect? You mean this isn’t just a military matter?”
“Afraid not.”
Mevon turned as his other two captains rode up alongside them. “You heard?”
“Enough of it,” said Tolvar. “Scorch me, looks like it’ll be a short leash indeed.”
“Very,” Mevon said.
“I feel for the elegant ladies of the Feathered Dollhouse.” Arozir sighed. “They may have to wait a bit longer for our most dubious presence, I’m afraid.”
“Right.” Mevon turned to Idrus again. “Anything else I should know before I head in?”
“Well . . . there is one thing, but it might be nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s about the other Hardohl. They seem to be . . . missing.”
“What? Both of them?”
Idrus raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “That’s all I know. It might be I heard wrong.”
“Not likely.” Mevon dismounted. He reached to lift Jasside out of her saddle, a mere featherweight bound at the hands and ankles by coarse ropes. She had an oddly thoughtful look on her face as he reached with a knife to undo her lower bindings.
“You’re taking her with you?” Idrus asked.
“I might as well. The sooner she’s out of our hands, the better.”
All three captains gave each other pointed looks, as if they were concerned parents deciding whether to let their child out for the evening. Mevon did his best to ignore their “affections,” since such instincts served so well on the battlefield. After a few moments of that eerie silent communication they seemed to cherish, they nodded to each other.
“Very well,” Arozir said.
“Be careful in there,” added Tolvar.
Idrus guided a hand to Quake’s neck and guided the horse away. Tolvar and Arozir followed, leading their own mounts. Mevon grabbed Jasside by the upper arm and marched her up the onyx steps to the prefect’s receiving chamber.
He came to the thick door and cast a glance at the two daeloth guards. Three purple lines, like ragged claw marks, adorned their black tabards, marking them as members of the prefect’s own darkwatch. One quickly turned to grasp the handle, saying, “You’re expected.”
Mevon marched in
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