Prophecy (The Sylvalla Chronicles Book 2) by A.J. Ponder

Author:A.J. Ponder [Ponder, A.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Phantom Feather Press
Published: 2019-10-31T05:00:00+00:00

People Traps

Dirk wandered around the castle trying to think. He needed a plan. Avondale would need a small miracle to win this war. Sylvalla’s idea of trenches was all well and good, but Phetero had been recruiting and training his troops for months. And Grehaum could enlist as many new bodies as he liked, but untrained, they’d be scarcely better than straw hitting-posts. And as for the generals, Cook could organise a battle better—and even she wasn’t a patch on that girl Torri with her ideas for people traps…

Which gave Dirk an idea. He strode into the kitchen. Torri was picking up a pot brimming with chopped onions, tears streaming down her face.

“Morning, Torri,” Dirk said. I expect you’ve heard about the war.”

“Yes, indeed.” Blinking rapidly, Torri managed an awkward curtsy. “My Da’s goin’ ter fight.”

Even through her onion-induced tears, Dirk thought he noticed a hint of pride. Stupidity.

Cook stomped over.

Dirk did his best to pretend he hadn’t noticed. “And Cook said you did a most ingenious job with your, er, people traps.”

Cook’s glare said it all—Get out of my kitchen and stop bothering my staff.

Thankfully, someone behind her dropped a pot. She spun around to yell at the offender.

“Well?” Dirk asked Torri.

“Well sir, I did my duty, is all.” Torri found a handkerchief, and blew into it.

“Good,” Dirk said. “My duty is to protect Avondale and the princess. To do that I need to know all about your people traps.”

“I really don’t want to make things that kill people.”

“In war, people die. The only question is, will it be hard-working Avondale folk like your dad or...”

“I’ve been thinking ’bout such things since the attack, an’ I do have some ideas.”

“Good. You’re now in the army. Come on, let’s go.”

Torri started heaping onion peel into a bowl. “It’s just I’m busy right now. After the wedding Cook will be able to spare me.”

“I’m talking about war, and you’re worried Cook will be grumpy?”

“She’s always grumpy. And bossy.” Torri smiled up at Dirk. “It’s not so bad.”

As if to prove Torri wrong, Cook was loudly threatening one of her staff with disembowelment.

Dirk was impressed—she’d have made a great officer.

Leaving her victim in a gooey pile of tears, she closed in.

“Sorry,” Dirk said. “I’m afraid your little hunter, er, gatherer here is exactly what Avondale needs.”

“Can’t Avondale wait? It’s bad enough I ’ave to put up with those damned wizards coming in here and turning everythin’ topsy turvy for Angelica and Purslane and sending my suppliers out looking for goodness knows what ’erbs. And I’ve ’ad to cater fer a funeral, a coronation and this gods’ blighted off-and-on again wedding. An’ all at short notice—and now you’re absconding with the help. By the Seven, I’ll have at you—sword, or no sword.” Cook’s face deepened from its usual cherry-red to scarlet. She hoisted her wooden spoon threateningly, heedless of the gravy dripping onto the floor.

Dirk resisted his impulse to break her arm, and dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper. “Avondale’s army is as green as mouldy bread, and half as dangerous.

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