Exile's Challenge Read Free Page B

Morrhyn or Kahteney seemed like Inquisitors, who were, in Arcole’s experience, cold and arrogant men. These two seemed only kind, and he obeyed as Morrhyn beckoned, indicating that they follow him down the valley.
    Colun and his Grannach fell into cheerful step beside, like an honor guard of animated rocks whose marching song appeared to be “Tiswin,” accompanied by a great smacking of lips and much laughter.
    Arcole felt Flysse take his hand, and looked, bemused,from where Davyd walked in lively, if not entirely understood, conversation with Morrhyn to her eyes. They danced with excitement, blue as cornflowers in the summer sun. She was smiling happily, her blond hair dancing loose about her lovely face. “We’ve come amongst friends,” she said. “Oh, Arcole, I believe we are safe at last.”
    He looked from her back at their escort and nodded. “Yes,” he allowed, “I think we have.”
    Surreptitiously, he eased the musket’s hammer down, the striker plate clear of the pan. Then wondered if it was the slight sounds of those mechanisms or something else that prompted Morrhyn to turn his head and smile. Arcole smiled back and slung the gun from his shoulder.
    Morrhyn said something to Davyd and the youth turned. “Morrhyn wonders what our muskets are,” he said. “I think the Matawaye have no such weapons.”
    â€œI’ll show them, does he wish,” Arcole replied. “But if they’ve no powder, we’d best reserve what little we have. In case …”
    He let his voice trail off, shrugging and smiling: he’d lived too long with fear of pursuit. In case of what? For fear Governor Wyme send Militia after them? Wyme must surely assume them dead, slain by the demons besieging Grostheim or the wilderness beasts, starved or drowned. Grostheim might no longer exist, nor its governor live, and it was unlikely in the extreme that even did Evander retain its foothold in this new, strange land much effort would be expended on the capture of three indentured servants. He touched the scar burned onto his cheek, the
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that marked him for the Autarchy as an exile, branded that all know him for a felon, condemned to lifelong servitude in the western territory across the Sea of Sorrows. He looked back at the sky-assailing mountains that divided what Evander claimed from this new land beyond and laughed. Save Colun’s Grannach allow it, no Militia could pass those peaks; nor the demons surmount that cloud-challenging barrier. No: save for hunting, they’d not need conserve either powder or shot. They’d come amongst allies here: it was an odd sensation to feel safe.
    â€œWhat do you laugh at?” Flysse asked.
    â€œOur good fortune,” he replied. “That we find sanctuary at last.”
    They came down from the neck of the valley to its girth, where the pine-clad walls spread out around a swath of lush grass, a stream laid like a blue ribbon along the center, alders and silvery birches clustering the banks. Four tents stood there, unlike any Arcole had seen before, high structures of tanned hide painted with bright colors that as they came closer he saw were idealized depictions of animals. One was decorated with horse heads, another with wide-winged eagles, the third with what looked like turtles; the fourth was undecorated. Farther down the grass, horses grazed, their forelegs hobbled that they not wander too far; and before each tent stood frames that were hung with round shields and leather quivers that held bows and arrows, long lances propped against the wood. Smoke rose lazy in the summer sun from a central fire that was surmounted with a spit on which the butchered carcass of a deer hung ready to eat. The slight breeze skirled around as they approached, bearing the odor of the roasted meat, and Arcole sniffed, feeling his stomach move in anticipation.
    He had been so intent on the scene he’d not realized Colun