Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones by Vox Day

Author:Vox Day [Day, Vox]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781935929888
Publisher: Marcher Lord Hinterlands
Published: 2012-12-09T06:00:00+00:00

FJOTRA

An impromptu council gathered in the main hall amidst the remains of the earlier feast that was still being cleared away by the kitchen thralls. But there was nothing festive about the haunted eyes and stricken expressions that could be seen in all of the Savoner faces, and more than a few of the Dalarn ones as well.

The Skullbreaker’s wounds were clean and bandaged, and, much to his disgust, he had been carefully carried down the stairs by two of his strongest warriors. He now presided over the makeshift gathering with his feet propped up on one of the table benches and goosedown-stuffed pillows supporting him on either side. Fjotra sat between the two sides, as she had to supply the translations required for them to talk to each other, which slowed the conversation considerably.

“How did this happen?” her father demanded of no one in particular.

“I went down and looked at the cells in which the two captive ulfin were placed,” Patrice said. He had taken the news of the prince’s death very hard and his uncharacteristically low voice made it hard for Fjotra to understand him. “There were two gaolers. Both were dead. I don’t know how the creatures managed to get out, but both gates were unlocked, and I didn’t find any keys on either body.”

“They’ve got a demon’s strength, and they have long arms too,” Steinthor Strongbow commented. “If one of the guards got too close to the cell, they could have reached through the bars to catch him, kill him, and take the key from his body.”

“That seems plausible,” the battlemage allowed. “And one of them did have wounds to his arm that could have been caused by their claws. But what’s harder to understand is how they knew to attack both you, my lord Skullbreaker, as well as the prince. The guards’ bodies were cool, but not rigid, so the beasts didn’t escape long before the feast. That would have given them enough time to explore the keep, and of course, if they slipped into the hall, they would have seen both the prince and my lord at the high table.”

“It doesn’t matter how the prince was killed!” Gerard de Coucy, the Comte de Montbrelloz and the prince’s captain of cavalry, exploded. “This is the Red Prince of whom we speak, the heir to the realm! Why are we wasting words on how the cursed demonspawn murdered him? Our liege lord now lies dead, and instead of avenging ourselves upon his killers, we sit and babble about how they managed the trick! When a knight falls on the field, do we stop fighting, sit on our arses, and parley about whether it was the sword through the gut or the axe through the helm that slew him? Or do we drive the cursed enemy from the field?”

Before Fjotra could even begin translating the comte’s words, Blais de Foix was shaking his head. He had been silent until now, but his eyes were dry, and he was visibly less perturbed than his younger companion.

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