The Godless: Children: Book One by Ben Peek

Author:Ben Peek [Peek, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466851221
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-08-19T00:00:00+00:00

7.

“Just a mercenary,” the exiled Baron of Kein said. “That’s all.”

He had not given up his weapons, but he had not been asked to do so. Nor was he chained or guarded, though the eight soldiers circled both Orlan and himself. But they did so loosely, informally.

Bueralan understood why. Unlike the raiders, the five men and three women around him had armor made from polished chain mail and oiled leather, all of it well cared for and sitting with a seasoned ease on each. And, while there were no bars of rank on any of them, it was clear that the seven took their orders from a brown-haired man of indeterminate age, whose tanned face could be at any point past his youth, but who moved with a swiftness and ease that suggested that the activities of those in the summer of the strength were not beyond him.

He called himself Dural and offered no rank and no affiliation. “A mercenary with Samuel Orlan?” He was the only one of the eight to have dismounted and he stood before the saboteur, a full head shorter. “For ransom.”

The way the word ransom emerged from his thin lips did not sit well with the saboteur. “I was hired in Mireea.” However, he could not change his lie now. “I didn’t think much of the work, but there is not a lot for men like me in Mireea.”

“Men like you?”

“I don’t know how to fight in a siege.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t want no trouble. This is just a simple transaction to me.”

“Do you always betray your employers so quickly?”

“I am always honest to myself, first.”

That was a mercenary’s answer, an answer Dural could accept with a grunt. Glancing around the saboteur’s shoulder to the cartographer, he said, “Not your day, old man.”

Orlan was silent.

“Will I need irons?”

“No,” he said, finally.

The soldier nodded. “Both of you on your horses, then. We’ll take you to the general.”

It was not right. Bueralan pulled himself into the saddle, glanced at Orlan, but the old man did not meet his gaze. He knew as well, the saboteur was sure of that. He knew there was something wrong with this, a gut-level reaction, but he knew that the die were cast now. Bueralan’s horse moved slowly along the road, Orlan and his old pony behind him, the silence of Dirtwater lingering until they rode through the dismantled fence, and the swamp crows lifted into the air in a series of screeching calls.

The soldiers did not react to the sound. They followed the trail as it narrowed into single file and became overgrown, two hours of a solid pace until the trail ballooned and the sound of people began to emerge. It was a growing susurration of voices and pots being packed, of the stamps of horses and the bark of dogs, of pigs and cows and more.

The Leeran Army soon appeared as he was led through low, green-gray trees, and it defied his gaze. He could not take

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