Iron Axe by Steven Harper

Author:Steven Harper
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The great hall of the keep wasn’t quite as great as Danr was expecting. The low ceiling beams, blackened by centuries of smoke, almost brushed Danr’s head, and the rushes on the floor hadn’t been changed in quite some time. The long table that ran the length of the room was a scarred survivor of too many feasts, the tapestries on the walls needed cleaning, and a thin fire burned on a hearth that hadn’t been swept. Aisa and Talfi, however, looked about in awe, and Danr wondered if they saw the same room he did.

A door banged open, and Earl Hunin strode into the room with two guards close on his heels. Behind them came little Rudin, White Halli’s son. More guilt lumped in Danr’s throat at the sight of the boy. Rudin would live without a father in his life because of Danr.

Behind Rudin came Hunin’s brother, the priest, still robed in his vestments of half black and half white. He carried his stick, and Danr was reminded of Bund’s cane.

However, Danr’s main attention went to Earl Hunin. The man was different, even to Danr’s normal eye. At the trial, he had seemed tired and unhappy. Now he moved with purpose and power. His white-blond hair, so like his son’s, gleamed in the firelight, and his very presence pressed against the walls and beams. On his left hand he wore a ring of black iron, a sign of mourning. Hunin apparently had decided to act as if his son had died. A bad sign.

“So it’s true.” Hunin’s face was red and he was clearly trying to keep his ire in check. Danr found himself feeling small and wanting to flinch. “The exile Stane who destroyed my son has the audacity to enter my keep and demand an audience.”

“My lord.” Danr wasn’t sure if he was supposed to bow or not. He was a prince now, and didn’t a prince outrank an earl? Still, he had nothing to gain by making the man angrier than he already was. So Danr bowed, and he felt Hunin’s anger heavy on his back. “I’ve returned. Not as an exile, but as a prince of the Stane. And an emissary. I am . . . I’m . . .”

Danr floundered. He should be using language that sang, words that rang off the walls, demands that made the trees pay attention. His voice should thunder in the mountains. But none of those things happened. He wasn’t worth any of that.

You’re nothing but a farmer’s . . . a farmer’s . . .

He paused again. He couldn’t complete the thought—that he was a mere farmer’s thrall. Was it true that a truth-teller couldn’t even lie to himself?

“All right, listen,” he said. The words tumbled out, hard and cold as truth. “I’m here on behalf of Queen Vesha of the Stane. They’re as desperate as a hundred cats in a washtub, and they’ve figured out how to claw their way out from under the mountain.

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