The Unchosen: Book One of The Queen Beyond by Simon Markusson

Author:Simon Markusson [Markusson, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Markusson
Published: 2019-05-06T22:00:00+00:00

15

It Answers Not to the Runes

Molgrimin was already growing gloomy as he made his way to his room. With Nathelion, he could laugh, certainly, and forget about a thing or two. But in solitude, only memories were his company. And they were bad company.

He was your own brother! his father’s voice boomed in his remembrance.

I know what I did. My crime will take me to the abyss. It was fortunate, then, that the abyss was where they were headed. His room was small and dark, with a neat but stiff bed. He lay down and stared up at the ceiling, where shadows were made to move by the shifting of the clouds outside the single window. He did not know how much time passed before he stopped seeing them and instead saw only memories.

They had been looking for prey that day, wandering the sweeping wide woodlands that had become their home for the season. And they had found nothing to outweigh a hare. Hy liked to run after those, of course, but it was not the sport they sought.

“I think he’s caught a scent,” Kartyvas said when Hy stopped to sniff around among the rice on the ground, the lanky dog padding excitedly from one spot to the next beneath the broad spruces that stood around them in serene majesty. The crowding evergreens spread their thorny branches and musty smell under the sinking sun of the Vale.

“About bloody time.” Arjomag spat and readjusted the heavy rifle against his shoulder. “Let him follow it. See if it gets us anywhere.”

Kartyvas rapped out a command, and the dog bounded away among the trees, following whatever trail it had found.

“Better not be another hare,” Ryferuv said, and he slapped at a mosquito that searched for blood on his cheek. His hand left behind a bloody smear. “Ah, I hate these bloodsuckers. Don’t they bother ye?”

“Ye stink too much,” Arjomag said, and Kartyvas grinned at him. So did Molgrimin. He wasn’t as impatient as the orange-haired moinguir with the parted beard, though the mosquitoes did assail him as much, especially now in the evening, coming out in swarms. Their bites would not distract him.

He found peace here, in the woods and in the slow hunt. It was why he came so often — came often and stayed longer every time. They had lived in the hunting burrow for two months now, eating what food the Vale of Talons had in its woods and its rivers and upon its plains. For him, it was a sanctuary of sorts. He was slow to anger here. In Kast-Harnax, with its busy halls and echoing passages, unrest stirred within him. And the outbursts that he could seldom control made his friends shy and wary of him. His father said there was a bear in him — and he said it proudly — yet Molgrimin knew it brought King Mauroc more grief than he would let on. And perhaps worry, too. Molgrimin shared it.

To hear the runemasters talk, the

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