Read Online WINDREAPER by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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red-hot fury at Bent's pleasant, smiling face.
"I'll try to be as unobtrusive as possible, Milord," Bent said sheepishly.
A snort of contempt came from Conar. Roget believed, if it had been possible, steam would have shot from Conar's nostrils and ears.
"Ignore him, Bent. Sometimes I think he gets on the rag like a female." Roget chuckled at Conar's answering grunt of hated. He glanced at his friend's set face and sobered. "It's for your own good. If we didn't love you, we wouldn't care."
* * *
As dusk settled on the land, Conar led the two men through a winding pathway of forest close to the western foothills of Mount Serenia. He had refused to speak to either of them as they saddled up and kept silent on the journey to Boreas Keep. Finally, while leading them past stunted trees beside the beach and into the overgrown scrub that grew low along the foot of the sheer cliff of mountain behind the palace, he spoke in a voice thick with nerves.
"The grotto is through here." He motioned with his hand at a twisted overgrowth of brambles.
"Can we get through?" Roget eyed the sharp thorns with obvious alarm.
"Of course." Conar dismounted and started easily slipping through the twisted growth. He turned toward them.
Roget glanced uneasily at Bent's bulk. "Well?"
Bent shook his head. "Where he goes, I go, Milord Hawk." He landed with a thud on the ground as he slid from his massive mount, a Viragon stallion. Bent took a deep breath and followed Conor with no little grace through the sharp thorns, drawing in his breath as his hands and face were scratched.
Conar's heart slammed in his chest. The passageway into the deeper part of the underground lake was confining, but it was not the close quarters of the now-unused grotto that caused his hands to itch, his breath to come in thick gasps. It was not his fear of tight, closed-in places that made him want to scream. It was the past causing him pain.
He leaned against the rock wall and could feel treacherous sweat running down his face. He wiped angrily at the telltale sign of weakness. This once-beautiful place now held a store of memories that made his heart ache, his throat close with emotion.
It had been here that Kaileel's men had taken him. Here where he had lost his freedom, his identity, his every precious possession. Here, men hired by his twin brother, Galen, had nearly beaten him to death. In this place he had been separated from the living.
And where he had last held Liza.
He tore his mind from the memory and, with a trembling hand, felt along the wall for support. He sucked in his breath as a jagged stone grazed the tender flesh of his palm. More pain in this place. More hurt. He felt as though he would scream. He must not remember. He would not remember. In remembering, he set in motion the agony that threatened to rip him wide apart.
"Milord?" Bent called, nearly plowed into Conar. The giant stumbled through the entranceway, ducking his head to clear the low ceiling of rock.
"Damn it!" Conar hissed, shoving his shoulder into the giant's midsection. "Get the hell off me, you over-sized gnome!" He forced his emotions deep inside the empty vessel that was now his heart, ignoring Bent's apology.
They heard the rush of water beneath them and the lapping of waves from the beach. A whisper of air moaned low along the iridescent walls, muffling their footsteps. Once in the grotto, the eerily glowing green water gave better illumination. The air smelled of salt and limestone.
Moving yellowish light played over the hanging rock formations around them. The white sand surrounding the grotto seemed to sparkle as though sprinkled lavishly with thousands of diamonds and fiery opals. The ceiling appeared to be alive with a green wave of light and a thick fog spread itself over the water. It was a peaceful place, deceptively calm and serene.
Motioning the men into a nearly hidden crevice, Conar wedged his body through the crack and made his way to the secret door which he
"I'll try to be as unobtrusive as possible, Milord," Bent said sheepishly.
A snort of contempt came from Conar. Roget believed, if it had been possible, steam would have shot from Conar's nostrils and ears.
"Ignore him, Bent. Sometimes I think he gets on the rag like a female." Roget chuckled at Conar's answering grunt of hated. He glanced at his friend's set face and sobered. "It's for your own good. If we didn't love you, we wouldn't care."
* * *
As dusk settled on the land, Conar led the two men through a winding pathway of forest close to the western foothills of Mount Serenia. He had refused to speak to either of them as they saddled up and kept silent on the journey to Boreas Keep. Finally, while leading them past stunted trees beside the beach and into the overgrown scrub that grew low along the foot of the sheer cliff of mountain behind the palace, he spoke in a voice thick with nerves.
"The grotto is through here." He motioned with his hand at a twisted overgrowth of brambles.
"Can we get through?" Roget eyed the sharp thorns with obvious alarm.
"Of course." Conar dismounted and started easily slipping through the twisted growth. He turned toward them.
Roget glanced uneasily at Bent's bulk. "Well?"
Bent shook his head. "Where he goes, I go, Milord Hawk." He landed with a thud on the ground as he slid from his massive mount, a Viragon stallion. Bent took a deep breath and followed Conor with no little grace through the sharp thorns, drawing in his breath as his hands and face were scratched.
Conar's heart slammed in his chest. The passageway into the deeper part of the underground lake was confining, but it was not the close quarters of the now-unused grotto that caused his hands to itch, his breath to come in thick gasps. It was not his fear of tight, closed-in places that made him want to scream. It was the past causing him pain.
He leaned against the rock wall and could feel treacherous sweat running down his face. He wiped angrily at the telltale sign of weakness. This once-beautiful place now held a store of memories that made his heart ache, his throat close with emotion.
It had been here that Kaileel's men had taken him. Here where he had lost his freedom, his identity, his every precious possession. Here, men hired by his twin brother, Galen, had nearly beaten him to death. In this place he had been separated from the living.
And where he had last held Liza.
He tore his mind from the memory and, with a trembling hand, felt along the wall for support. He sucked in his breath as a jagged stone grazed the tender flesh of his palm. More pain in this place. More hurt. He felt as though he would scream. He must not remember. He would not remember. In remembering, he set in motion the agony that threatened to rip him wide apart.
"Milord?" Bent called, nearly plowed into Conar. The giant stumbled through the entranceway, ducking his head to clear the low ceiling of rock.
"Damn it!" Conar hissed, shoving his shoulder into the giant's midsection. "Get the hell off me, you over-sized gnome!" He forced his emotions deep inside the empty vessel that was now his heart, ignoring Bent's apology.
They heard the rush of water beneath them and the lapping of waves from the beach. A whisper of air moaned low along the iridescent walls, muffling their footsteps. Once in the grotto, the eerily glowing green water gave better illumination. The air smelled of salt and limestone.
Moving yellowish light played over the hanging rock formations around them. The white sand surrounding the grotto seemed to sparkle as though sprinkled lavishly with thousands of diamonds and fiery opals. The ceiling appeared to be alive with a green wave of light and a thick fog spread itself over the water. It was a peaceful place, deceptively calm and serene.
Motioning the men into a nearly hidden crevice, Conar wedged his body through the crack and made his way to the secret door which he
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