A Hero's Curse Read Free Page A

of the darkness holding sunfire. Powerful stuff that, and just about priceless. Didn’t even know any of it still existed. Still can’t figure where he would have got it or who would have given it to him. It burned the mist away around us and showed us what was real and what wasn’t. But sunfire burns up quick when you ignite it, so we double timed out of there pretty fast. There were only five of us left. We couldn’t even go back to get the bodies. That tore your dad up pretty bad. We promised we’d come back with mages who could handle battle magic and illusion, get them then. Killian was different all the way back, though. In a hurry, like something was chasin’ us, ’cept there was nothing behind us. When your dad got back to the palace you were blind—” Uncle Cagney stops awkwardly.
    I don’t want him to stop. “I haven’t heard any of these stories,” I say quickly. “Did you go back to get the bodies? Did Dad see the daemon?”
    “We didn’t go back. Not immediately,” says Uncle Cagney.
    Because Dad resigned . I think to myself. There must have been some sort of reorganization . I hear Cagney scratch his beard and then pop something into his mouth. “He never said so to me, but I think he saw it. The daemon, that is. He never talked about it.” I hear him sawing on a plank. He stops, I can picture him examining the plank, then he says, “Did I tell you about the jewel thieves last summer?”
    I sigh. The one story he will not tell—why Dad resigned. He doesn’t wait for my reply. “Several robberies. Someone saw them in the act, and I ended up chasing four of them from the city, a petty thing that time, just some jewels from Old Plaza, I think—”
    I smile inwardly. Uncle Cagney is so different from Dad. He will talk for hours on end, while Dad can go all day without saying a word. They’re both big: Dad’s legs are as big as my waist, and Uncle Cagney is even bigger than Dad. They both have long hair, but Uncle Cagney’s is on his chin. He keeps a beard braided down his front with his head shaved, while Dad always keeps his face clean. Mom says it makes them look funny when they stand next to each other. I just like that Uncle Cagney feels so normal compared to Dad—even if he does wear hoop earrings and have what Tig describes as “ridiculous pirate tattoos running up his neck and the back of his head.” Tig loves the beard though. He likes climbing it.
    “Was Dad always quiet?” I interrupt Uncle Cagney’s story again.
    Uncle Cagney seems caught off guard. “Eh, what? You’re interrupting me again. Quiet?” Uncle Cagney puts another piece of timber in place and takes the hammer from my hands where I had been holding it for him. When he speaks it sounds like he is talking around a nail in his mouth. “No. No he wasn’t.” He pauses, and I think that’s all he’s going to say, and then he continues, this time without the nail. “He loved to fish. Dry bait, flies usually. He was real good. We used to fish the Mar at the bend just below Nob. He was an artist. And laugh! He would tell a joke and then end up laughing loudest. All the girls loved him. Good lookin’ and six foot six and big as a house but graceful like. Got married to the prettiest of them all and then chosen for King’s Champion. He had it made. He led the kingdom protectors for just about six years and then—”
    He resigned . I think again. Because I went blind . Right?
    “He doesn’t fish anymore, either,” finishes Uncle Cagney. He hammers away and does not resume his stories for nearly an hour. I can feel the sun is getting ready to set when someone comes up the dirt track my parents walked yesterday.
    Tig catches the sound first this time. He hops up on my shoulders and whispers in my ear. “Somebody coming.”
    My heart jumps in my throat. Could they have already been killed in an accident? “Somebody’s coming,” I blurt to Uncle Cagney. We are on the side of the porch, facing the fields, away