Patricia Bray - The Sword of Change 01 by Devlin's Luck

Author:Devlin's Luck [Luck, Devlin's]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-05-29T12:32:53+00:00

Seventeen

THUNK! THE STEEL AXE SLICED THROUGH THE WOOD, cleaving it neatly into two pieces that fell away onto the ground. Devlin picked up the next piece from the stack beside him and set it on the frame. He swung the axe, and another piece was neatly divided.

The autumn morning was chilly, and frost covered the stone courtyard. The youth whose task this was sat perched on the lumber cart, huddled in his coat, his hands tucked under his arms. At first Devlin, too, felt cold, but as he settled into his labor his muscles warmed up, and he paused to strip off his coat.

He settled into the rhythm of the task, letting his mind drift. A tradesman’s receipt. Murchadh had sent him a tradesman’s receipt. He felt a flash of anger, and the axe cleaved through the wood and more, embedding itself in the wooden base below.

A tug was enough to remove the axe, and he resumed splitting the wood, careful not to let his emotions overwhelm him.

He had never expected to hear from Murchadh, for his friend had joined with the others in declaring Devlin forsaken. In their eyes he was already dead. Yet Murchadh had sent a tradesman’s receipt. Nine stylized circles and the sign of his forge. There were no words, but it was enough. All nine golden disks had been delivered, which meant that Devlin had fulfilled his obligation.

But how had Murchadh known where to find him? One of the wool traders must have gossiped, despite Devlin’s warnings. He had known that relying on such folk was chancy, but at the time it had not seemed to matter. He had been sure that he would be long in his grave by the time Murchadh received the coins and drew his own conclusions as to their source.

Devlin’s confidence had been misplaced, for it was autumn, over four months after his arrival in Kingsholm. And though he had faced death thrice already, his old luck still held. Lord Haakon was not yet ready to welcome Devlin into his kingdom.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran through him as he wondered bleakly if the Lord of Death would ever be ready to take him. What if there was no death in store for him? What if this half-life was Devlin’s fate, a punishment worse than any death could be?

He heard a voice behind him, but ignored it, lifting the final piece of wood into place. Then the voice called more loudly. “Devlin!”

He swung. The axe cut cleanly through the wood, and he set the axe in the chopping frame. He turned.

Captain Drakken regarded him quizzically as the youth scrambled off his perch and began stacking the kindling in the lumber cart.

“The wood offended you?” she inquired.

“My muscles needed the work.”

The cart quickly filled, and he realized he had no idea how long he had been chopping wood. At least half an hour, maybe more. It was hard to tell, for the sun had yet to banish the gray predawn mist.

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