The Rover by Mel Odom

Author:Mel Odom [Odom, Mel]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2002-09-16T04:00:00+00:00

“C’mon, Wick. Wake up. We’re here.”

The little librarian came awake with a start, feeling someone gently shaking his shoulder. He blinked and glanced at Hamual standing beside him, barely remembering the young man’s name in his lethargy.

An owl screeched somewhere in the distance, followed by the keening howl of a stalking wolf. Night had fallen, filling the narrow cracks between the trees and brush till it looked like a wall of solid black around the clearing where the house was. Jhurjan the Swift and Bold sped across the star-filled sky.

The log house was old and gray from weathering the elements. It stood three stories tall and leaned against a tall cliff. Unless a rider was nearly upon it, Wick thought it would be all but invisible. Gray smoke furled from a crooked stone chimney but was quickly lost in the trees on the cliff above the house. A small lean-to built beside the house sheltered other horses.

“Where are we?” Wick asked as he eased from the saddle and dropped to the ground.

“Our house,” Hamual answered.

“You live here?” As Wick watched, he saw three more men step from the house. They all had the rolling gait of dwarves and carried battle-axes and war hammers. One of them carried a lantern that barely cut through the darkness.

“Only for the time we are working in Hanged Elf’s Point,” Hamual replied. He held the reins of his horse and Wick’s and led them into the lean-to.

“While you’re working?” Wick repeated, his thoughts still foggy. He’d been dreaming of Greydawn Moors, but the dreams hadn’t been happy ones. In those dreams, he’d been at the Library where he discovered he couldn’t read, and in his father’s shop where he discovered he could no longer put Ardamon’s stubborn lantern together. He’d felt very alone and afraid in the dreams, and they had continued to spin inside his head until he’d been awakened.

“Sure.” Hamual led the horses into stalls. “Thieves can only work an area so long before they are discovered and the work turns dangerous.” He stripped the saddles and bridles from the horses.

Brant and the rest of the party saw to their own mounts.

“I thought all thieving was dangerous,” Wick said.

“It is.” Hamual closed the stall doors and tossed an armload of hay into each compartment. “But it gets even more so when the local Thieves’ Guild discovers you. And the Thieves’ Guild in Hanged Elf’s Point pays tribute to Orpho Kadar.” He handed Wick his journal back.

Wick nodded his thanks and quickly tucked the book back under his shirt. “You’re not part of the local Thieves’ Guild?”

“No.” The young man’s chest swelled proudly. “We’re independents. The last of a dying breed, Brant says.”

“Make sure that little halfer stays in your sight, Hamual,” Cobner commanded gruffly as he tossed his battle-axe over one shoulder and walked toward the house. “If he gets loose in these woods, I don’t want to be tripping over his guts in the morning after whatever might catch him in the night gets done with him.

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