The Last Whisper of the Gods Read Free Page B

that I’m aware of.”
    Brindig spoke for the first time. “Is there something you want to tell us?”
    Sorial considered. Aside from Rexall, a stableboy at The Delicious Dancer, these two were the closest things to friends he had, and he wanted to tell someone about the priest’s words.
    When he was done, Darrin appeared discomfited. Brindig’s expression hadn’t altered.
    “I wouldn’t go spreading that kind of rumor,” said Darrin at last. “I’ll admit I’ve heard similar things, but you never know about the source. Being a priest is a hard life and, if he was drinking, he’s lost his faith. I’ve known a few apostates in my time and they were all miserable people. The more men repeat unwholesome things, the more easily they’re believed.”
    “Keep your eyes and ears open, Sorial, and be careful,” said Brindig. Then, echoing Warburm, he added, “We may be entering dangerous times.”
    With that, the three of them turned to watch the sun rise.
    As the day wore on and Sorial cared for the animals, he found himself gripped by a sense of uneasiness. Normally, conversations with Darrin and Brindig (to the extent that Brindig participated) raised his spirits. Not today, however. Some lads, like Visnisk and Rexall, would have laughed away warnings about “dangerous times.” They would have made sport of a drunk priest. They would have seen today as no different than the hundreds of days to precede it. But Sorial was of a more serious disposition. He took those things to heart. And it weighed him down. “Be careful” was Brindig’s admonition, and Sorial was determined to heed it.
    During the morning, he frequently stole outside to scan the grounds in case someone - or something - was lurking there. The dimly remembered scary stories told by his mother when he was a toddler loitered in the recesses of his mind.
    What would it mean for him if the gods had abandoned men? He was no longer as sure as he had been when he spoke those careless words to the priest about not caring. Dangerous times - what did that mean? Did anyone know or were they parroting something they had heard?
    It was early afternoon when a smartly dressed man entered the building. With barely a glance at the stableboy, he headed for one of the stalls. At first, Sorial thought nothing of it, but a look at the man’s clothing gave him pause. There was something odd... The cloak and shirt were cut from a more expensive cloth than that normally worn by patrons of The Wayfarer’s Comfort. The breeches, however, were old, dirty, and fraying near the ankles - peasants’ attire without a doubt. The boots were mud-caked, scuffed, and ill-fitting. Someone wearing such finery on top would have pants and boots to match.
    “Excuse me, sir,” said Sorial, “Can I help you with something?”
    The man turned to face the stableboy. He flashed a smile that was too exaggerated to be genuine.
    Be careful …
    Sorial took note of the newcomer’s features. His long wheaten hair was drawn back in a ponytail. An untrimmed mustache and bushy beard hid his lower face. His gray eyes were cold; the smile didn’t touch them. They radiated indifference, perhaps cruelty.
    “Just getting my horse.”
    It was a lie. The animal he approached had become skittish. Sorial recognized it as the property of Wickharm, a merchant who visited often and left good tips.
    “Sir, I think you may be mistaken. I know whose horse that is.”
    “Yes, yes. I was sent to fetch it. He’s in a hurry.”
    Another lie.
    “Perhaps if you asked him to come out…”
    “I told you, he’s in a hurry.” There were traces of irritation in the man’s voice. He was trying to place a saddle on the horse’s back, but the animal was being uncooperative. Sorial looked on, dumbfounded. It was his duty to saddle the animals for their owners. No one ever readied their own beasts.
    “Could you tell me whose horse this is?”
    Horse thievery was a serious crime in Vantok, punishable in some