The Dark Defiles Read Free Page A

standing at the wall of the ruin. It still seemed to be watching him.
    “Sir?”
    Shahn was at his side, face carefully expressionless. Ringil looked past him at the men, who were mostly squaring away twitchy grins, squinting up at the sky and trying to seem serious. He couldn’t really blame them; he was about to shrug off the whole thing himself, when he noticed the Hironish guides. They stood apart, off the path, and hastily averted their eyes as soon as he looked their way. He stared at them for a couple of moments, and they steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. But he caught the glance one of them could not help casting toward the ruin and the ram.
    Ringil followed the man’s gaze. He felt his pulse pick up.
    The ikinri ‘ska, pricking awake in him like some dozy hound by the fireside at the sound of the latch.
    “Sergeant,” he said with distant calm. “Get everybody down to the boats, would you?”
    “Sir.”
    “Wait for me there. Tell Commander Hald and the captain I won’t be long.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Ringil was already moving toward the ruin. He barely heard the man’s response, was barely aware of the marines as they mustered behind Shahn’s snapped order and tramped off at a brisk march. He was off the path now, knee-deep in the rain-soaked heather, and he had to force his legs through it to make headway. Ahead of him, the ram, apparently satisfied, tossed its head again and trotted through a gap in the tumbled wall of the croft that might once have been a doorway.
    The sky had darkened overhead with the gathering cloud. The wind seemed to be picking up.
    He reached the ruin and looked in over a wall that barely came up to his waist. The ram was nowhere to be seen. Ringil prowled the wall, swept a speculative glance up and down the interior, making sure. Knee-high growth of grass across the floor, shaped stones from the tumbled walls scattered here and there, the splintered, rotted-wood remnants of what might have been furniture a long time ago. At one end wall, the stonework was blackened where hearth and chimney had once stood.
    Something was gathered there, crouched by the hearth-space, waiting for him.
    He couldn’t quite see what it was.
    At the ruined doorway, gusts from the rising wind agitated the long grass, bowed it back as if offering him passage inside.
    Ringil nodded to himself. “All right, then.”
    He stepped in over the threshold.

CHAPTER 2
    e’d paid the whores for the whole afternoon, but in the end couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for a third go-around. Usually, two women at once solved that kind of problem for him, but not today. Maybe it was the smell of damp wool that still clung to their bodies even after they’d peeled naked for him, maybe the fact he caught the mask of fake arousal falling off the face of the younger one a couple too many times in the act. That kind of thing stabbed at him, took him out of the moment. He knew he was paying, but he didn’t like to be reminded of the fact, and back in Yhelteth he wouldn’t have been.
    What’s the matter, Dragonbane? You never fucking happy? Up on the steppe, you craved all that southern sophistication you’d left behind. Put you back in the imperial city and you wish you could have the simple life again. Now here you are with simple whores in a simple little town, and that’s not right for you, either.
    Ye Gods, he missed Imrana.
    Wasn’t talking to the bitch currently, but missed her still.
    So when the young one knelt before him on the floor and slipped his flaccid cock into her mouth, while her older companion sat on a stool in the corner, legs apart, lifting one pendulous tit at a time and tonguing the nipple with leering glances in his direction, he just grunted and shook his head. Hoisted the girl bodily from her knees—his cock slipped back out of her mouth, still pretty much flaccid—and set her aside. The older whore eyed him warily as he got up off the disheveled bed. He read her thoughts as if they were