Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword Read Free

a way for no-goods like these to enter the royal city.
    Hesel rose, wiping his bloody mouth. But Fornian kept his dagger at Dwin’s throat.
    Trevin flexed his fists and growled, “Release my brother.”
    “Now!” commanded Varic. The wolf dog shot toward Trevin.
    Fangs rushing toward him, the well at his back, Trevin didn’t hesitate. Before the dog could leap, Trevin grabbed the sharp, crumbling ledge of the well and hurdled over it, hoping to find the inner wall with the balls of his feet. As the mongrel clawed at the ledge, he lowered himself, grabbing at chinks in the stone, trying to hug the wall, but it was slick with slime. Before he could gain a hold, he slid within an arm’s length of the bubbling ooze.
    Trevin heard Varic’s whistle and Dwin’s strained voice talking fast. He wedged his feet and hands in the widest cracks he could find and felt his way around until he straddled the well. His eyes stung from the steam, and he swallowed to keep from retching at the stench.
    Hesel peered down, one eye swollen. “How long can you hold on, dung digger?”
    Dirt and rocks, leaves and sticks showered down on him. Trevin turned his head, closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth. Moments later hoofbeats faded into the woods.
    Trevin listened for Dwin, then called to him. No answer. He shook the dirt and twigs from his hair and studied the shaft above him. He had scaled walls before but with hooks, never barehanded. The crevices that pocked the sides of the well might serve as handholds if they were not too slick. He reached up and grabbed a protruding rock with his right hand.
    As the rock touched the place where his small finger was missing, a mist descended over his mind. Within the mist stood the cloaked figure that haunted his terror-dreams. Never had he fallen into his dream in the daytime.Gripping the rock, he fought back the image, ignored the flashing pain in his hand, and swallowed his screams.
    A stinging sensation on his feet pulled him from the dream and brought him fully back to the danger of his situation. Hot muck spat on him with each thick belch of gash below.
    “Climb,” Trevin muttered to himself. “Climb or boil.”

   CHAPTER 2   
    craped, bruised, and sore, Trevin headed through the woods toward Redcliff astride Dwin’s donkey. He had returned to the tavern for his mount only to find the horse missing. He suspected Dwin had filched the roan from the tavern post so he could lead the Dregmoorians to Redcliff in style. The dolt.
    On the other hand, maybe Dwin knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe he had met with the Dregmoorians before. In that case he was no dolt; he was a traitor. Trevin broke into a cold sweat and nudged Persephone with his heel.
    Persey picked up her pace, then settled back into a walk.
    Trevin growled. “I can go faster barefoot.” He slid off the donkey’s back and onto a pine cone. “Blast!” he yelled, hopping on one foot, rubbing the other. He was already sore from brawling; he didn’t need a pierced foot as well.
    A flutter sounded overhead, followed by a sharp chirp.
    Trevin squinted into the treetops. A drak clung to a bobbing branch with its taloned human hands. Not long ago he had aspired to be a talonmaster to the falconlike spy-birds. But then he had seen the shock in Melaia’s eyes when she learned each drak held a captive human soul. Worse, Lord Rejius had kidnapped Peron, a child Melaia loved like a sister, and bound her in a drak’s body. Now Trevin loathed the whole business of mastering draks.
    He grabbed a pine cone and drew back to heave it at the bird. Then he froze. Most draks were large and traveled in pairs. This bird was small and alone.
    “Peron?” He dropped the pine cone. He had no meat to offer, no glove to protect himself, but he held out his hand and whistled.
    A breeze shuddered through the leaves, rippling the drak’s dull black feathers, and the bird flapped away.
    Trevin turned back to Persey and yanked her forward.