farther.
“What about me?” the second man asked, standing and giving the Captain a courtly bow. He seemed more boy than man, despite the bruises that marred his countenance. He had a narrow, thin face, with light brown hair that hung down to his shoulders.
“ You are going nowhere. You caused a near riot yesterday, and my guards have better things to do than rescue your sorry hide. You will stay put until Festival is over, or I will deal with you personally. Understood?”
The young man flushed. “Understood.”
Captain Drakken turned her attention back to Devlin. “The Choosing Ceremony will take place tomorrow at midday. I will come for you then. But if you are not here, there is no shame.”
“I will be here.”
The Captain left, and Devlin found himself the center of attention. The soldier Lukas, a middle-aged veteran, regarded him warily, while the young man appeared fascinated.
“You are here to be Chosen?” the young man asked.
Devlin ignored him. Shrugging the pack off his shoulders, he set it down in the empty cell on his left. Then he untied his cloak and hung it on a hook. Entering the cell, he sat down on the bed and began to unlace his boots. Each movement was deliberate, requiring all of his concentration. It should have worried him, but it did not. He chalked up his weariness to the length of his journey, and to the strange sense of anticlimax he felt after having come so far, only to be greeted with less than welcome.
“Any hope of getting something to eat?” Devlin asked.
“You can go fetch something yourself, or they’ll bring a meal here round sunset,” the soldier said.
Devlin nodded. He pulled off his left boot, then his right. Those shreds of fabric around his feet had once been socks. He would have to do something about them. But not now.
“Wake me when food comes,” he said, stretching out on the cot. After weeks of sleeping in fields and barns, his body eased itself into the welcome softness. By habit his right hand rested on the dagger he wore at his side.
“But wait. You can’t go to sleep. Not now. It’s midday. And I have so many questions to ask you,” the young man said.
Devlin closed his eyes, and then his ears. The young man’s voice was a distant hum, and then there was nothing at all.
When he woke, sunlight was streaming through the narrow slit window high up in the wall, crossing the small cell and bouncing off the wooden door. The door was closed, but through it he could hear the sound of voices. Devlin sat up, rubbing the last of sleep out of his eyes. A quick check showed that he still had all his weapons. His pack appeared undisturbed, which meant either they trusted him to a foolish degree, or whoever had searched his belongings was an expert at his job.
His boots were on the floor where he had dropped them earlier. He tried not to look too closely at his feet as he forced them back into his boots. Even his blisters had blisters.
Devlin rose and went to the door. He did not remember shutting it earlier. But it opened freely at his touch.
The veteran soldier and young man were seated at the table in the common room, along with another soldier whom he had not seen before. The young man had his back to Devlin, and was strumming a lute.
The veteran soldier turned as Devlin left the cell. “Good morrow,” he said.
“And you,” Devlin said courteously.
The young man put down his lute and turned to face Devlin. “Good morrow. I’ve been waiting for hours for you to waken. You scarce said two words at supper last night, and then you seemed like to sleep for a thousand years. I thought you were sick or dying, but Sergeant Lukas here said you were simply tired and I should not disturb you.”
Devlin kept his face still. He did not remember anything of yesterday, after he had reached the guardhouse. And yet according to the minstrel, he had risen and supped, without ever truly waking. He must have pushed himself harder than he knew to have reached
“What about me?” the second man asked, standing and giving the Captain a courtly bow. He seemed more boy than man, despite the bruises that marred his countenance. He had a narrow, thin face, with light brown hair that hung down to his shoulders.
“ You are going nowhere. You caused a near riot yesterday, and my guards have better things to do than rescue your sorry hide. You will stay put until Festival is over, or I will deal with you personally. Understood?”
The young man flushed. “Understood.”
Captain Drakken turned her attention back to Devlin. “The Choosing Ceremony will take place tomorrow at midday. I will come for you then. But if you are not here, there is no shame.”
“I will be here.”
The Captain left, and Devlin found himself the center of attention. The soldier Lukas, a middle-aged veteran, regarded him warily, while the young man appeared fascinated.
“You are here to be Chosen?” the young man asked.
Devlin ignored him. Shrugging the pack off his shoulders, he set it down in the empty cell on his left. Then he untied his cloak and hung it on a hook. Entering the cell, he sat down on the bed and began to unlace his boots. Each movement was deliberate, requiring all of his concentration. It should have worried him, but it did not. He chalked up his weariness to the length of his journey, and to the strange sense of anticlimax he felt after having come so far, only to be greeted with less than welcome.
“Any hope of getting something to eat?” Devlin asked.
“You can go fetch something yourself, or they’ll bring a meal here round sunset,” the soldier said.
Devlin nodded. He pulled off his left boot, then his right. Those shreds of fabric around his feet had once been socks. He would have to do something about them. But not now.
“Wake me when food comes,” he said, stretching out on the cot. After weeks of sleeping in fields and barns, his body eased itself into the welcome softness. By habit his right hand rested on the dagger he wore at his side.
“But wait. You can’t go to sleep. Not now. It’s midday. And I have so many questions to ask you,” the young man said.
Devlin closed his eyes, and then his ears. The young man’s voice was a distant hum, and then there was nothing at all.
When he woke, sunlight was streaming through the narrow slit window high up in the wall, crossing the small cell and bouncing off the wooden door. The door was closed, but through it he could hear the sound of voices. Devlin sat up, rubbing the last of sleep out of his eyes. A quick check showed that he still had all his weapons. His pack appeared undisturbed, which meant either they trusted him to a foolish degree, or whoever had searched his belongings was an expert at his job.
His boots were on the floor where he had dropped them earlier. He tried not to look too closely at his feet as he forced them back into his boots. Even his blisters had blisters.
Devlin rose and went to the door. He did not remember shutting it earlier. But it opened freely at his touch.
The veteran soldier and young man were seated at the table in the common room, along with another soldier whom he had not seen before. The young man had his back to Devlin, and was strumming a lute.
The veteran soldier turned as Devlin left the cell. “Good morrow,” he said.
“And you,” Devlin said courteously.
The young man put down his lute and turned to face Devlin. “Good morrow. I’ve been waiting for hours for you to waken. You scarce said two words at supper last night, and then you seemed like to sleep for a thousand years. I thought you were sick or dying, but Sergeant Lukas here said you were simply tired and I should not disturb you.”
Devlin kept his face still. He did not remember anything of yesterday, after he had reached the guardhouse. And yet according to the minstrel, he had risen and supped, without ever truly waking. He must have pushed himself harder than he knew to have reached
Similar Books
Gone to Texas
Jason Manning
Anne Douglas
The Handkerchief Tree
Grown Men
Damon Suede
Moonglass
Jessi Kirby
Stephen
Kathi S. Barton
The Dragon's Vamp
C.A. Salo
Ironskin
Tina Connolly
A Knight In Her Arms (Knights of Passion)
Evie North