The Path of Destruction (Rune Breaker) Read Free

profession, he was used to both storms and being insulated from them. Insulated from everything, really. Though the island, the keep and the fishing town that supported both were in disputed waters, the island was largely unknown thanks to unkind currents and winds conspiring to ensure that only someone looking for the place could find it.
    And with no ruler to make petty demands or do routine-altering things like hold balls, Nhan Raduul under his stewardship had become so efficient that he was certain he could navigate the entire keep blindfolded and still be able to conduct its business perfectly.
    On most days, he ran out of things he needed to do by midday. This was one of those days, and it found him idling in the stuffed chair in his office, contemplating what to fill his time with for the day. The storm would prevent his usual trip into the village, and like many Kimean households, there wasn't a library because reading for enjoyment was thought of as a low pursuit; literacy was for taking and reading notes regarding arcane studies.
    He was still searching for inspiration when one of the young boys he employed to run messages throughout the extensive keep and out to the town burst into his office.
    The lad bore the clear indicators of a family whose genetic legacy had been tampered with. His hair was stark white, shading to extremely light blue, his eyes red like an albino's, and overly large in his head. The overall effect made people look twice, but was nowhere near as drastic as some of the alterations he'd seen Kimean aristocracy inflict on a peasantry they viewed as one mass pool of fodder for their experiments.
    Now he stood, dripping wet, his long, unbound hair sticking to his face, with a look of unbridled excitement on his face. “Mister Tolere! Mister Tolere! They sent me up from the village!”
    Tolere grunted and tried to look like he'd been interrupted in the middle of something important. “What is it, boy? And it had better be a navy bearing down on us to justify entering my office without knocking.”
    The boy hung his head, eyes on the ground. “I'm sorry, Master. Only, they said to come with all haste, and I was already slowed up enough for the rain—didn't wanna slip and crack my head!”
    A waved of Tolere's hand told the boy to get on with it. “You work for me, remember? No one else's orders come before mine and mine are to knock.”
    “Begging your pardon, Master...” The boy stayed near to the door, ready to bolt. A lot of people new to the island behaved that way; like beaten dogs. They eventually came around, once they realized that the steward wasn't a cruel man, he just blustered because he could. “But ma says we work for the Lord of Nhan Raduul, Lord Crossius.”
    Tolere chuckled. “Yes, but beyond the gold he sends to keep the coffers topped up, Crossius hasn't been on this island for more than twice as long as you've lived.”
    “That's just what he said, Master.” said the boy with the wide-eyed expression of a child desperately trying to relate their side of the story before punishment. “He said it's been nigh on twenty years, and that I should run and tell you he was coming.”
    “Who told you this?” Tolere asked, resisting the urge to heave a sigh.
    “Why Lord Crossius, Master. He said he'd be here in an hour.”
    Tolere gaped like a fish on the deck of a ship for a long moment. It couldn't be! After two decades of efficiency and bliss, it was all just going to be torn from him again? He'd gotten used to the life of an autonomous steward, and now he was expected to return to the life of a servant ?
    He suddenly knew what he needed to do that day: drink. There was half a bottle of the local brandy in his desk. Like a flash, he went for it, half-shouting to the boy to order the household staff to assemble for presentation in the receiving hall before diving into the fermented salve for his soon to be battered pride.
    ***
    Mon Sulus Kime was a meritocracy that judged its