The Charmed Sphere by Catherine Asaro

Author:Catherine Asaro
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: &WORKING
Published: 2011-03-06T00:38:52+00:00

23

The Golden

Halo

Anvil the Forged walked with Varqelle along the top of a fortified wall that wound through the cliffs above Castle Escar. The air was noticeably thinner up here and the sky a dark blue. Cold seared his lungs, exhilarating in a way he never experienced in the humid, overly fertile lands of Aronsdale. Varqelle, however, looked less than pleased. “I fail to see how that slip of a girl escaped my agent. She has no use to me as a hostage if she runs away so easily.”

“Chime Headwind is a mage,” Anvil said. “She used a spell against him.” It annoyed Anvil. Varqelle had sent one of his best men to catch the girl, a soldier with expertise in infiltrating even the most fortified refuges. Varqelle tapped his long fingers on the hilt of the sword at his hip. “You assured me those incompetent children can create no worthwhile spells.” Anvil shrugged. “She instinctively defended herself. That is different from using her abilities in a military capacity. How-ever, her spell was apparently rather crude. She was lucky. This time.” Varqelle’s man continued to hide in the countryside around Suncroft.

The king stopped at a crenellation in the wall. “They bedevil me, these people of Aronsdale.” He motioned toward the distant countryside of Harsdown, far below the mountains, spread out like a game board, brown on brown. “My people starve. Aronsdale has more than we do. It troubles me, troubles me greatly.” It troubled Anvil, too, though for different reasons. He had wearied of his travels. At thirty-one, he was no longer a boy hungry for adventure. He desired a permanent home. Riches. Servants. A woman. It didn’t decrease his need to strike at Aronsdale, but it changed the slant of his intentions. Aronsdale had robbed him of his home and family; it would give back to him now, make him rich. He jerked his chin at the mountains in the opposite direction, toward Aronsdale.

“The people beyond those peaks live in wealth while your people starve.” Varqelle snorted. “They may have more than we do, but I would hardly call it wealth.”

“They are a boil on the face of the earth,” Anvil growled. Varqelle’s laugh put an uncharacteristic smile on his face. “A colorful but perhaps apt description.”

Anvil decided to probe for information. “I can see why you have such a history of problems with their kings.”

“What history?” Varqelle asked curiously.

Anvil took a guess. “King Daron wronged you.”

“Did he now?” Varqelle tilted his head. “How?”

Anvil could see this wouldn’t work. Varqelle was too savvy to reveal anything unless he wanted it known. So he switched to a straightforward approach. “Isn’t that why you have such difficult relations with Aronsdale?” “Actually, Daron tried to improve them.” Varqelle waved his hand. “He thought I would let his trade caravans go through Harsdown.” “It could be lucrative,” Anvil admitted.

“I have no interest in enlarging Dawnfield coffers.”

“Even if it enlarges yours?”

“Taking Aronsdale would enlarge them more.” Varqelle scrutinized him as a strategist might study a map.

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