The Chimaera Regiment Read Free Page B

droop, even when he stood at attention. He looked for all the world as if he were about to fall asleep while standing on his own two feet, and that gave him the edge of surprise in many conflicts.
    The shorter man was older; his hair had greyed and his skin had wrinkled, but he was still a fit and capable warrior. His age did not take from his power, but only added experience. Unlike most of the militia, he had seen some genuine battles, and he knew tactics at least as well as Lord Cyrus. His experience notwithstanding, his impertinence and antisocial behavior kept him from responsibility. He did not complain: he was a warrior, and he had no intention of standing far from the clash when the foe came. His dark brown eyes were wider-set than his companion’s, and he could watch the whole field at a single glance. He, too, frowned constantly, not by the nature of his face, but because he simply disliked everything.
    When the crowd had moved on, the shorter man said to the taller, “I tell you, Duncan, the way that man walks through here, you’d think he owned the place. And the people don’t help none, groveling and fawning like they do.”
    “As I recall, Einar,” Duncan quipped with a smirk, “you was kneeling, too.”
    Einar glared at him. He twisted his lips into an angry frown and retorted, “Don’t bother me with trivialities, Duncan!” His face thus contorted, he bridled his tongue until he was satisfied with Duncan’s submission. “Point is,” he continued at last, “I wasn’t waylaying him just to put my lips to his boots! If there’s something here he’s to do, then by Kyrou, let him do it!”
    Duncan mused absentmindedly, “I’m not sure he has boots.”
    Ignoring him, Einar resumed, “Though why he went to that useless imp, I’ve no idea.”
    “Oh, wrack it!” Duncan interrupted, “Go easy on the boy. You know he lost his father a few seasons back. Mayhaps he’s yet struggling under the lot that’s been put on his shoulders.”
    “It were six years back, Duncan! If the kid’s still weepy over that, he’s got more troubles than I thought!”
    The two men turned away and resumed their patrol, still discussing the advent of the Guardian lord. Aneirin had long kept to himself; his arrival did not bode well for the continued peace of the Valley of Kyros.

Chapter Two

    The 2040th year of the Sixth Era
    The third of the month of Anthemen
    Halfway through the seventh hour

    Most tribes in the world then were nomadic, traveling from one land to another with flocks or cattle. The Alkimites were rare in this regard, for they had long established the Valley of Kyros as their permanent home. They had cobbled stones into roads for easy travel, but the rains of spring and the heat of summer had caused them to wither. The cottages that the Alkimites called home were similarly falling into disrepair. Only the lord’s manor was well-maintained; other houses were plagued by termites and rot. The meager house in which Hector lived with his mother, Rhoda, was no different.
    Rhoda was standing near the door when Hector, Aneirin, and the crowd approached. Rhoda greeted them with a smile, “Hector, Lord Aneirin! So good to see you, milord!” She glanced past her visitor at the crowd, a meaning glint in her eyes. Reluctantly, the would-be eavesdroppers began to disperse. Only Caradoc remained behind, standing alone on the path. Rhoda invited Aneirin in; her guest smiled his thanks.
    After they entered, Rhoda closed the door. “Would you like something to drink, milord?” she offered. As Aneirin and Hector settled into the family room, she walked to the kitchen, but held back a moment to hear his response.
    “No, thank you, madam,” he answered politely, “I’m afraid I haven’t the time. Once I have spoken with Hector, I must again be on my way.” Rhoda nodded; she proceeded to the meager kitchen to prepare a cup of hot tea for herself. She often drank tea to soothe her nerves, Hector recalled. Yet he