Finnikin of the Rock Read Free Page A

to take her, blessed Kiria?" Sir Topher prompted gently.
    The High Priestess hesitated. "She claims that the answers lie in the kingdom of Sorel."
    Mercy. Finnikin would have preferred to have heard Sarnak or Yutlind. Even Charyn with its barbaric ways. He would have preferred to take her to hell. It would certainly be less dangerous than Sorel.
    "And you believe Balthazar will contact us there?" Sir Topher said.
    "I do not know what to believe. The goddess has not bestowed the gift of foresight on me. All I can pass on is this girl and the name of the one she claimed would come for her." Once again her eyes were on Finnikin. "Perhaps both chosen by a missing king to be his guide."
    There was a sound by the door, and the High Priestess held out her hand as a figure appeared from the shadows.
    The girl had the coloring of the Lumateran Mont people, a golden skin tone, much darker than Finnikin's own fair skin. Her hair was shaved, but he imagined that if it were allowed to grow,
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    it would match the darkness of her eyes. Dressed in a gray shift made of coarse fabric, she would easily be passed by without a second glance.
    "Sir Topher, Finnikin, I present to you the novice Evanjalin."
    She cast her eyes down, and Finnikin watched as her hands shook and then clenched.
    "What is it you fear?" he asked in Lumateran.
    "Most of her time was spent in Sarnak," the High Priestess explained. "It is the language we have used during the break of silence."
    Finnikin could no longer hold back his frustration. He pulled Sir Topher aside. "We know nothing other," he said in Belegonian to ensure the novice and the High Priestess would not understand. "This is all too strange."
    "Enough, Finnikin," Sir Topher said firmly. He turned back to the High Priestess. "Has she spoken since?"
    She shook her head. "She has taken the vow of silence. She has suffered much, Sir Topher, and her faith is strong. It's the least we can leave her with."
    Sir Topher nodded. "If we are to make the tide, we must leave soon."
    Finnikin was stunned at how swiftly Sir Topher had made his decision, but the look in the older man's eyes warned him not to protest. Biting his tongue, Finnikin watched as the High Priestess took the girl's head in her hands and pressed her lips tenderly to her forehead. He saw the girl's eyes close and her mouth tremble, but then her face became impassive again and she walked away from the High Priestess without a backward glance.
    The descent was as nauseating as the climb up, made worse for Finnikin by the burden he carried in his heart. Taking this girl halfway across the land had not been part of the plan he and Sir
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    Topher had worked out in the early days of winter. The uncertainty of their new path did not sit well with him.
    When they reached the base of the cliff, they passed the group of kneeling pilgrims. A hand snaked out to grab the cloth of the novice's cloak.
    "Your feet," Finnikin said, noticing for the first time that she was barefoot. "We can't afford to be slowed down because you don't have shoes."
    But the girl did not respond and continued walking. It was only when they were a good distance from the cloister that she looked back and he saw the raw emotion of loss on her face. By then the waters reached their knees and Finnikin feared they would not make it to safety without being washed away. Here, the tide was said to return at amazing speed and pilgrims had drowned without any warning. He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, and suddenly her look of vulnerability disappeared and in its place was a flash of triumph.
    As if somehow the novice Evanjalin had gotten her way.
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    ***
    CHaPteR 2
    In the days that followed, cold winds gnawed at their bones and a winter that refused to end kept the days short and darkness a constant companion. Sir Topher decided that the best route to Sorel would be to cross into Sarnak and follow the road through Charyn. Although the quickest route was down through Belegonia, Sir