Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) Read Free Page A

lewdly. Mouse squeezed his eyes shut against grief stronger and sharper than the pain of his abused muscles. Nothing would ever erase the stark images of the brutal use Gredad and the house-guards made of Rossah. Nor would Mouse ever forget the appalling expression of ecstasy on Drakon’s face as he watched. Or how Drakon looked when the men were done with Rossah, and he stepped forward, his dagger drawn…. And when he was finished, he casually told the guards to throw Rossah’s body onto the dung heap behind the stables. He discarded her as if she were nothing more than rubbish.
    Mouse set his teeth into his lip to bite back the moan of pain. Nothing but trash...
    Lying in bed with Rossah two nights ago, Mouse had told her he would die if it might prevent her having to go to Drakon’s bed. She had placed gentle fingers over his lips, and shook her head.
    “I will go as I must,” she whispered. “Nothing can prevent it, and I would not have you die for me. It’s only your love that makes all this bearable.”
    “We could escape together,” Mouse said eagerly.
    She shook her head. “No,” she said. “We’re slaves. We could never be anything but slaves. If they caught us, they’d kill us. It would be so much better if you could only accept the fact of your slavery, Mouse. I wish you could.”
    “As you have?”
    “Yes. It’s real. You can’t wish away reality.”
    “We could go to Isgard where nobody knows we’re slaves.”
    “And how would we live?” Again, she put her fingertip to his lips. “No,” she said. “Come, kiss me again. We haven’t much longer. Don’t waste the time talking of impossible dreams.”
    “I hate him,” Mouse whispered fiercely against the softness of her hair. “I hate Drakon.”
    Below, the Stablemaster set the slaves to caring for the guards’ horses. Mouse fell asleep again, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
    When he awoke, there was no sound but for the quiet breathing of the horses. Carefully, he lowered himself down to the loft floor and crept to the ladder. He held the iron bar firmly tucked under his arm as he made his way down to the aisle between the box stalls. One of the horses, still awake, turned lazily to watch him as he stole past, but made no sound.
    Mouse paused at the stable door, peering out into the paddock. The full moon turned the yard into a place of pale washed silver and hard black shadows. Nothing moved. He heard nothing but the soft soughing of a gentle wind in the boughs of the fruit trees. No lights showed in the windows of the main house that bulked large against the star-splashed sky.
    He started across the yard toward the shelter of the laundry and ran full tilt into a man who stepped out of one of the privies next to the stables. The man grunted in pain and cried out as Mouse caromed off him to his knees in the packed dirt.
    Gredad! Oh, gods, it was Gredad.
    The Guard Captain recovered quickly from the winding Mouse had given him. “You!” he cried, staggering to his feet.
    Even as Gredad opened his mouth to shout for the guard, Mouse swung the iron bar. It caught Gredad on the side of the head. The sound it made was like dropping an overripe melon onto a stone floor. Mouse’s belly contracted into a knot of revulsion as Gredad collapsed like an empty sack.
    Mouse caught Gredad by the heels, dragged him back to the privy and shoved him inside. He dropped the bloody iron bar on top of the body and closed the door, then stood leaning against the unplaned wood, panting and listening hard. But nothing disturbed the silence. Nobody had heard Gredad’s startled exclamation.
    Mouse darted across the yard to the laundry house. He needed something to cover his nakedness. Garments and bedding hung, some dry, some still damp, from lines strung across the back of the shed. Identifying articles only by touch, he found a shirt, a tunic, a pair of breeks and a thick, warm woollen cloak. There was even a pair of boots, sent for cleaning and