Book of Kinsey: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 2) Read Online Free

machinations. Sargon intended to address one of them this very evening.
    The group traveled on in relative silence for the remainder of the day. They had followed a branch of the Tanglevine almost directly west and found a nice clearing next to the river to make camp. Several trees leaned out over the water, providing easy access to refill their canteens.
    The dwarves fanned out to tend to their separate duties while Sargon stretched his legs and went to check on the still-slumbering form of Kinsey. The half-dwarf’s bed had been set near the fire that was rapidly being constructed by Horus. Peace still smoothed the lines of Kinsey’s face, and his color was good. Sargon was no field surgeon—his ability to heal stemmed from sources other than study—but he suspected that Kinsey would recover shortly.
    Satisfied, he sat next to Kinsey’s litter to work the last of the stiffness from his legs. He sighed and pulled his pipe free from his vest pocket. A large pinch of Lowland tabac went into the handcrafted bowl, but he did not light it yet, choosing instead to chew softly on the pipe stem and watch his companions. Sargon leaned back against a convenient lichen-covered stone and lost himself in the activity of his brethren.
    Jocelyn managed the camp with a deft hand. She good-naturedly clubbed her brother, who was sitting on a fallen branch and peering into a boot suspiciously. “Lazy bones!” she chided him. “There’s naught but your imagination in yer boot. Help Neal gather the water, or you’ll not be eatin’ my cookin’ t’night.”
    “ Harridan, ” Gideon grumbled, loud enough for the elf they had left behind to hear. In spite of his grumping, the general jammed his foot back into the boot and joined in the chaos. Goods were pulled from the sacks, bags, and crates that had been strapped to the ponies’ backs, and in short order, the smells of supper wafted through the small camp.
    The old priest’s stomach rumbled with anticipation, so he got to his feet and slowly made his way closer to the fire. Sargon circled around those who had willingly come with him on this journey, touching each briefly on back and shoulder. This journey had become the single most important event of his life and the affirmation of his faith. He took a moment to mark their faces in his memory. They had come when he had asked. Now came the time to see if they would hide his secret and the secret of their king.
    Sargon bent down and retrieved a stray twig from the fire while the others talked amongst themselves. He used the bright embers to light the dry tabac in his pipe as he took long drags on the stem. The smoke rolled in his mouth, peppering his taste buds with the robust flavor of the rich leaf. ’Tis the stuff o’ kings, ta be sure, he thought as he looked for a place to sit close to the cook fire.
    Jocelyn smiled and scooted to make room for Sargon, while Neal just leaned aside, still gobbling down his portion of supper. Jocelyn scowled at the gluttonous dwarf. Reaching down, she seized one of Neal’s boots and hauled upward, pitching him backwards with a yell of surprise. Low laughter turned into hoots of delight when Neal’s face reappeared in the firelight, covered with pork stew. The disgruntled dwarf’s anger turned to chagrin as he took note of Sargon standing next to him, and he muttered, “Apologies, Sargon. Take ma spot, if you will.”
    Jocelyn, looking smug, handed Sargon a steaming bowl and Neal the ladle. Neal barely looked twice at her when she said, “And Neal, don’t forget, it be yer night ta be scrubbin’ the stew pot.”
    Neal ducked his head with a murmur that might have been, “As ya say, Jocelyn.” Neal was a good fighter, like the rest of them, but truly daft when it came to manners or wits. This time, though, he knew when he had been beaten.
    Sargon enjoyed his meal between the drags on his pipe. Usually he would wait to smoke until after dinner, but there were things he needed to say, and he