Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) Read Free

whiskers, and one eye is covered with a patch. The most remarkable thing about him, though, are all the knives. I can count at least a dozen strapped to his torso, his belt, his arms, and his legs. I wonder how many others he’s concealing.
    His one good eye looks me over like Quenson did. Except when he does it, it makes me uncomfortable. I square my shoulders and cross my arms and raise my chin, trying to seem bigger. Tougher. He smirks, but doesn’t say a word.
    “Go.” Quenson says.
    Before I have time to think, Dub leaps at me, his knives flashing. He swings and I duck and roll away. He throws a blade, and I somersault and narrowly dodge the attack. His knife clatters and skids across the floor. I tumble to grab it and another one of his blades slices my sleeve as it whizzes past. I don’t know why, but this guy is serious. He means to kill me.
    With Dub’s knife tight in my grip, I charge him. He’s nearly twice my size but I don’t care. If he wants to kill me, I’m going to make it difficult. He’s ready for my attack though. As I swing to stab him, he sheaths a knife and grabs my arm, twisting it painfully behind my back. He’s strong, but I’m a fighter. I elbow him hard in the ribs and kick him between the legs until he doubles over. That makes him loosen his grip on my arm, so I spin and punch him hard in the face. His nose cracks and he curses.
    Quenson’s laughter somewhere to the side of the room is a musical sound that echoes up to the high-domed ceiling and back down again. It reminds me of how much I want to please him. It makes me fight harder.
    Dub is furious. I punch his jaw and he growls and grabs my wrist again. With his free hand, he draws another knife from his endless supply. He overpowers me and shoves me against the wall, pressing my hand against the stone. His good eye is dark with madness. He raises the knife. He’s going to drive it through my hand, pin me to the stone with it.
    I struggle to break free. I kick and swing and squirm, but he’s too strong. He thrusts the blade forward. I can’t escape him. He’s won. I brace myself for the strike and gasp as his empty fist smashes into my hand.
    “Enough,” Quenson says.
    Dub growls in frustration and throws my hand down. I open my eyes in disbelief to see the Sorcerer standing several paces away, holding Dub’s knife between his thumb and forefinger with a look of disgust.
    “Such rudimentary, primitive things,” Quenson scoffs as Dub retrieves the weapon and shoves it into a sheath at his thigh. He wipes at the blood that trickles from his lip and sneers at me.
    “She has proven herself a worthy fighter,” Quenson goes on. “The moment has come. The day of the verdict,” he says darkly, and turns to me. “You and Dub have a common goal now: That of redemption. You see, he has also failed us. More than once.” Quenson’s voice darkens, and Dub looks away from us both. “You shall work together. He will teach you. Fill you in. Not too much,” the Sorcerer raises a finger. “Slowly, slowly. Take your time with the girl. Leave me now. When I see you again, I hope for both of your sakes that you will not have disappointed me again.”
    With a hateful glare, Dub jerks his head at me and I know I’m meant to follow him. As disappointed as I am to have to leave the Sorcerer’s presence, I don’t dare argue or ask why. I agreed not to speak, and I won’t go back on my word. Even though my heart is still racing from the fight and my thoughts are full of questions, I do as I’m told and I follow Dub from the room.
    We walk for a long time, and just when I worry that maybe he’s lost, Dub stops outside the open door to the bedroom where I woke up.
    “You have to change,” he says to me. “Back into the clothes you came in.”
    “But—” I start, and he’s on me in a flash, pinning my shoulders to the wall.
    “You listen to me. This isn’t a game, little girl, nor do I have the patience for you. If I had my way,