The Grey Bastards_A Novel by Jonathan French

Author:Jonathan French [French, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2018-06-19T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

There was only one figure waiting at the mouth of the tunnel gate to see Jackal and Starling off; a wide, turbaned silhouette standing at ease in the night.

“And so where we first met becomes where we part,” Crafty said, his smile evident even in shadow.

Jackal pulled Hearth to a halt and sat for a moment in silence. “Whatever it is you came here for, Uhad, you must not have wanted it badly enough.”

“Because you are not a successful usurper? Is this your meaning?”

Jackal snorted bitterly. Crafty’s command of the Hisparthan tongue waxed and waned to suit his purpose. “You didn’t help me get the chief’s seat, so now I can’t help you.”

The wizard’s pudgy, ring-laden fingers splayed out in a futile gesture.

“Had you come to me with your intentions, friend Jackal, I would have warned against untimely action.”

“It doesn’t take a wizard to see a shit future that is already yesterday.”

“This is so,” Crafty placated.

“What will you do now?”

“Truly, though it is far from ideal—”

“Enough,” Jackal cut him off wearily. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not my place to care anymore.”

He kicked his hog forward into the pure black of the tunnel, leaving Crafty to stand in the starlight.

In front of him, Starling went a bit taut as they rode blind. She did not know to trust the hog’s instincts within the gullet of the wall.

“We’re soon through,” he told her, and tightened his hold about her waist.

Thankfully, she had not balked when he came to collect her from the supply hall. The slopheads tasked with guarding her would not meet his eye and offered him no aid. They went about their duties amongst the inventory, silently transferring care of the she-elf to Jackal as they would a bag of beans. That was what she had become, a commodity, to be stored amongst sacks of grain and barrels of olive oil, adopting their mute dullness. A mote of vitality appeared when she beheld the cuts on Jackal’s arms and chest, but there was no trepidation on her face, only a grim curiosity. He took her from amongst the shelves with the rest of his allotted kit.

And now the Kiln was behind them both, forever.

Hearth wanted to run as soon as he cleared the tunnel. Jackal allowed him, checking the beast’s stride just enough for Starling’s ease. The whim of the hog was their only guide, for Jackal had no inclination of where they should head. Ul-wundulas was open to him, daring him to tread where he will. He was a free-rider, a nomad, with no oaths or pledges binding him, no sworn brothers to watch his flank. He and Starling would live or die on the choices he made, and that was if the Lots chose to be kind. If the sun rose to find them in Bastard lands, then die they would, bristling with thrumbolts if his former brethren could not stomach to get close for the killing.

The shortest distance out of the lot was north, toward the Umber Mountains, but that would bring them to the edge of Tine lands.

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