Soulbinder (Book 3) Read Free Page A

Kendril.
    The Ghostwalker vaulted back, and fell into the snow as Talvik’s sword carved a path disturbingly close to his chest.
    Without stopping the muscle-bound man readjusted his grip and swung his weapon at Kendril again with blinding speed.
    With a strangled curse Kendril dodged. He smashed back up against something hard. He half-turned, glimpsing the shape of a large wagon behind him. The driver appeared to have mysteriously vanished.
    Talvik came again. He lifted his sword in the air with both hands.
    Kendril dropped to the ground, feeling the sharp cold of the snow, then rolled backwards. He ducked his head as he felt the undercarriage of the wagon brush his shoulder.
    The entire vehicle shuddered as Talvik’s sword smashed down into the wood where Kendril had been standing a moment before.
    The man let out a shriek of rage, struggling to dislodge his sword from where it was stuck in the wagon’s side.
    Kendril rolled onto this stomach, and reached one hand towards his belt. The bottom of the wagon was inches above his head, his left cheek pressed into snow and mud. Three feet away he could see Talvik’s boots shuffling around in the slush. Kendril banged his elbow painfully against the wagon above him as he tried to get the pistol out of its holster.
    This was certainly a grand moment, he thought bitterly. Hiding like a scared cat under a wagon. It really wasn’t—
    Without warning the sword was shoved point down into the snow, where it stood for a moment, embedded in the frozen ground. The next instant two powerful hands gripped the underside of the wagon carriage and heaved upwards.
    To Kendril’s horror the entire wagon flipped over the top of him and crashed down on its side behind him.
    Talvik easily yanked the sword out of the ground and held it in one beefy hand.
    Kendril yanked out his flintlock pistol and fired.
    There was a half-hearted spark, and the snow-covered weapon misfired. Smoke drifted uselessly from the damp firing pan.
    Kendril glanced at the overturned carriage behind him, then down at his smoldering pistol. He looked up at Talvik. “I don’t suppose you want to talk this over?”
    With one smooth motion the ruffian swept the large sword over his head, ready to bury it in Kendril’s skull.
    The Ghostwalker winced, preparing himself for the inevitable blow.
    It never came.
    There was a sharp hissing sound, followed by a low thud.
    Talvik’s staggered forward, his face registering shock and pain. He started to turn, but there was another sharp whizzing noise, and he crumpled to the ground, landing face first in the snow.
    Two arrows protruded from his back.
    A figure stood in the middle of the road twenty paces behind the body, a longbow held in her left hand. Her free hand reached up and lowered the hood of the green cloak that flapped gently in the wind. Red hair spilled down onto her shoulders.
    Kendril replaced his pistol, rubbing his hand across his snow-covered cheek. “Your timing is impeccable, Kara.”
    The young woman reached for another arrow. “Any more?”
    Kendril heaved himself to his feet. Snow fell from the edges of his trousers. “Just one,” he said as he glanced around, “and it looks like he’s long gone. Where’s Joseph?”
    Kara left the arrow in her quiver and brushed back her hair. “Coming.” She gave the dead man a distasteful look. “Not really a challenge unless they’re twice your size, I suppose?”
    The Ghostwalker walked up to her. He gave a good-natured shrug. “I had it under control.”
    Kara nodded. “Sure you did.”
    Maklavir came through the snow towards them, one hand still on the hilt of his sword. “Kara! Thank Eru. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come when you did.”
    “Yes,” said Kendril with a sardonic smile, “Things were bad. Maklavir actually had his sword half-drawn.”
    Kara sighed. “We’ve only been gone for three days. You two couldn’t stay out of trouble for that long?”
    Kendril