Exile Read Free Page A

exertion, he took a moment to catch his breath before rolling over to check himself for damage. Small, bright Zozia had risen with her brothers and sister, shedding enough light to reveal long stalactites of gray moss hanging from the branches high above. They draped the trees like dusty Sohalia ribbons.
    Draken signed his thanks to Zozia for her protection and waited for his breathing to return to normal before getting to his feet. For a moment he just stood, looking at the quiet darkness. No sounds or movement around him. He sank back down on a root and rubbed his eyes with a grimy hand.
    Hunger urged him to go back to the town, to find something edible to steal. But if it were him on the chase, he’d have the village canvassed soon. And if the village were Khein, that meant soldiers, plenty of them. The road would ease his travel, but maybe it was better to avoid people for now, at least at night.
    “All I did was take some water,” he muttered—and not enough of it, at that. He couldn’t keep up a decent pace for long without food and drink. He looked down at his torn, filthy clothing, the ugly brands on his hands marking him as a criminal. The next time he had opportunity, he must steal more food and better clothes. He now regretted leaving the horse in its paddock.
    Draken sighed and climbed out of the gully. Stealing. And he’d beaten Sarc senseless. Was his nature so easily remade by events? This banishment already had him considering and committing criminal acts.
     
    ***
     
    Hours later, a light on the ground ahead moved like it was alive: fire. He crept toward it until he was close enough to see the soldiers he had eluded. The scent of cooking meat made his stomach twist with hunger. One of their horses lifted a head and snuffled in Draken’s direction, but the men paid it no mind.
    The two sat near the fire, playing at Khel’s Stones. The pieces glittered white: a moonwrought set. Very expensive. The moonwrought looked at odds with the makeshift board laid out on the bare ground, twigs marking the ever-changing territories. The marshal was winning, sweeping the field.
    The marshal said something to the other, too soft to hear, and gestured with his chin. The servii chuckled, replied, and stood up as the marshal picked up the game pieces.
    The soldier walked over and knelt next to a bundle on the ground, tightening the ropes on it. “Ha,” he said, grinning at his lord. “This one won’t wriggle from the ropes as the last one did. Catch a fair price, she will.”
    “If she’s worth anything after I finish interrogating her.”
    “We could do it here.”
    “No. Let her sweat.”
    Draken heard a whimper from the bundle and his dry lips pressed together in annoyance at the unfriendly amusement. The bundle was too small for an adult and undoubtedly destined for an Akrasian slave market. But what would they interrogate a child about?
    He stood for a moment, torn by his need to evade these two and his sympathy for the prisoner. And then the servii did something to clinch the matter. When the captive twitched violently, he gave it a vicious kick. The muffled cry stung Draken’s razed nerves, urged him to run out there and defend the helpless. But the voice of experience also spoke of caution.
    Balls to that, he thought.
    Gods-damned Akrasian slavers. If anyone deserved stealing from, it was these two. Despite temptation and abundant opportunity, he’d never been deliberately cruel, like kicking a bound, defenseless prisoner. Even when he was the prisoner, during his arrest and conviction, even with the disdain shown him by his cousin-King, Draken had never been harmed by the officials who detained him. Monoean law held the gods alone could decree fate, even for a bastard slave turned murderer. Only the ship captain had dared test the intent of the law .
    He looked up at bright Zozia, the tiniest and wisest of the Seven Eyes, goddess of children and the weak. He felt her watching him back. She had