C1 Saga of the First King 01 - The Highwayman by R.A. Salvatore

Author:R.A. Salvatore [Salvatore, R.A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Tor Fantasy
Published: 2007-10-02T05:00:00+00:00

Garibond heard the knocking, but it didn’t register in his mind, as if it were coming from far away, perhaps, or as if it were part of another world.

Even the loud crash that followed merely made him blink once and roll over.

But when he heard Bransen cry out, “Nnnnnnnno!” his eye popped open and he rolled quickly out of bed to his feet.

He took in the scene immediately: there was Prince Prydae and his companion, the warrior of note named Bannagran. Bannagran held Bransen by the shoulders, his great strength keeping the poor boy almost completely still.

“When your laird comes knocking, you would do well to open the door for him,” Bannagran said to Garibond.

“I—I was asleep,” the man stammered. “My liege, is there a problem?”

“No problem,” Bannagran answered. “We came for the boy and now we have him.” The large man wheeled about, jerking poor Bransen so forcefully that his legs swung out wide.

Garibond, dressed only in his flimsy nightshirt, rushed to the door before them. “What are you doing?” he cried. “You cannot take my boy!”

“Cannot?” Prydae said, holding a hand up to silence Bannagran.

“But, my liege—”

“Exactly,” Prydae interrupted. “Your liege. Your laird.”

“But why would you wish to take him? He is just a child. He has never harmed anyone. Please, my liege, I beg of you to leave him alone. Mercy, my liege. Sweet mercy.”

“Oh, shut up, you babbling fool,” said Bannagran. “And get out of the way before I throw you through the door. The Prince of Pryd is in need of your son, and so your son will come to his service.”

“What can he do? He is just a child, and infirm—”

“Not infirm for our needs, I pray,” said Bannagran. He wrapped one arm around Bransen’s chest and leaned back, holding the boy easily from the floor, then reached his other arm around and down the front to the boy’s crotch and gave a squeeze that brought a squeal from poor Bransen.

“Yes, he is secure.”

Garibond’s eyes widened with horror, and he charged forward—or started to, for before he got a single step, Prydae had his sword out, its tip against Garibond’s chest.

“I will forgive you that,” Prydae said, “just once.”

“Ah, I see that you have secured our sacrifice,” came a voice behind Garibond, from the open doorway, and he turned around to see Bernivvigar standing there.

“S-sacrifice?” Garibond stammered, and then he steeled himself and straightened his shoulder. “You old beast! Begone from my home!”

“The boy will not be killed,” Prydae assured Garibond, and there was something in the prince’s voice, some bit of remorse perhaps, that made Garibond look back over his shoulder.

“He is needed,” Prydae went on. “Take pride that this crippled creature will restore the line of Pryd.”

Garibond’s expression was one of pure incredulity. “What will you do to him? He’s just a boy.”

“The Ancient Ones oft accept such sacrifices,” Bernivvigar said.

“You just said…” Garibond protested to Prydae.

“That he will not be killed,” Prydae repeated.

“His life is not the sacrifice,” Bernivvigar said, and there was obvious amusement in his tone.

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