Child of Fate Read Free Page B

to the others already astride their horses and
waved a farewell to them. He locked eyes with Karthor and offered
him a smile of gratitude.
    Alto watched them ride away and felt more
than a small part of him wish he was riding with them. He shook his
head, banishing the silly thought. Even after he turned to head
back inside, his neck still craned around for a sight of the dust
their horses left upon the road toward Monterose.
    He was a farmer, born and bred. He’d known
that his entire life. He’d never put much thought to it, but
assumed that he would help out on his father’s farm all his life.
Perhaps he would build his own home on the land somewhere, and
maybe one day have his own family.
    Alto sighed, hand upon the side of the door.
He glanced once again at the road, where only a faint haze of dust
still clung to the air. If he stayed, his future was one of hard
work and the reward of knowing a simple {job} done well. What
Tristam offered was the stuff of tales told to children and
whispered in the bars by drunkards. He shook the thoughts from his
head and went inside to see to his father.
     
     
     
     

Chapter 2
     
    The next day Alto and Darren worked to teach
their siblings more about tending the farm. The youngsters could do
the simple chores like milking the cows and fetching eggs from the
chickens. The children needed to learn the plowing, sowing, and
other work that required a strong and steady hand. Throughout the
day, Alto’s thoughts were scattered, often taking a flight of fancy
to the armor and sword that rested in his father’s trunk.
    The following day, his father awoke for the
first time. Lana fed him soup and gave him water, and then he fell
asleep again for many hours. The next day he woke with a clear
head. Alto waited until his mother and brothers and sisters were
busy before going in to speak with him.
    “Father, do you remember what happened?” Alto
asked him.
    “Thrown from my horse,” his father said, his
eyes fixing on his son. “Goblins spooked it…they’re cowardly
things, they must have ran. Was it you that found me?”
    Alto shook his head. “Gemini brought you
back; your foot was caught in the stirrup. He dragged you and the
plow to the barn,” he told him.
    “We saw to you, and then I rode out to make
sure the raiders you spoke of passed us by.”
    “I don’t remember much,” Halgin said, clearly
unhappy about the situation.
    “I found some people…good people,” Alto
amended. “They helped kill the goblins and they came here so their
priest could heal you.”
    “Helped kill?” Halgin asked, lifting his head
a little to get a better view.
    Alto nodded. “Well, they did most of it, but
one of the goblins tried to flee and came at me. I killed that
one.”
    Halgin grunted, laying his head back on his
pillow. “And how did you manage that?”
    “I took your sword and your armor and rode
Sebas,” Alto explained.
    Halgin sighed and remained silent for a
moment. When he finally spoke, he did so in a voice Alto knew was
one meant to offer guidance. “It’s good to fight for what’s yours,
my boy. But killing for a living’s not our way of life. Not even
goblins and the like.”
    Alto nodded, falling into silence for a while
and letting his gaze drop to his hands. He glanced back, expecting
his father to have fallen asleep, but the man was staring up at the
ceiling instead. “A proper healing is a hundred and fifty gold in
Portland,” Alto said.
    “Aye, I remember your mother saying as much
yesterday. Not to worry; I’ll make do,” Halgin said.
    It was another long and tense minute before
Alto spoke again. “I could help earn the money.”
    Halgin sighed, and then looked at him again.
“How’s that, by soldiering? Soldiers don’t make much, not as much
as we can in a season working the land. And they spend what they
don’t gamble away on women and drink.”
    Alto shook his head. “No, not soldiering.
That’s the same mind Tristam had about them.