Children of Enchantment Read Online Free

would ever know.
     And what would Abelard’s disappearance mean for him? He was the heir of Meriga, the only child of Abelard’s dead Queen. So
     far, he’d yet to prove himself on the battlefield. How could he rule all Meriga?
    He turned away from the window with another sigh and paced to the hearth, where the fire snapped and hissed.
    “Stop that, damn it,” Brand spoke over his shoulder.
    “Stop what?” Roderic threw another log into the middle of the fire.
    “That pacing. It reminds me of Dad.”
    Roderic swung his long, gangly legs over the bench beside his brother and tapped the scroll. “What do you think?”
    “I don’t know what to think. I suppose Dad could have been ambushed by Harleyriders—though they’ve usually retreated to the
     deserts south of Dlas by Vember. Maybe he met a Muten war party as he crossed into Tennessey on his way to Ithan, or maybe
     there was some sort of accident.” He looked at Roderic and shook his head again. “I just don’t know.”
    “Phineas says he’s called an emergency Convening of the Congress. Shouldn’t I be there?”
    Brand shrugged. “In theory, of course. The Congress will acclaim you Regent—which I suppose you already are. But in reality—you
     can’t leave Atland, Roderic. Not now. Not until we get the upper hand in this revolt.” The brothers lapsed into silence, both
     thinking the same thing.
    The war in Atland was not going well. Roderic was charged with what he increasingly thought of as an impossible task—the defeat
     of the Muten rebels once and for all. The King had managed to quell the last rebellion, a dozen years ago, by a combination
     of diplomacy, tactical genius, and luck, when a particularly virulent form of plague swept through the Muten ranks. Impervious
     to all the diseases which afflicted the Mutens, the King’s Army had easily overrun the enemy.
    But both brothers knew that so far, his heir was not so lucky. It was simply that terrain and weather, as well as sheer numbers,
     were against them. The Mutens bred like rats, producing six and seven and eight offspring, and those who did not starve or
     die from disease, went on to reproduce the same way. They were vermin, and like vermin, impossible to eradicate.
    A log split with a loud hiss, and Roderic was reminded of their last encounter, only a few days ago. The driving rain had
     turned the ground to a soupy sea of red mud, and his horse had slipped and scrambled for purchase, even as he shouted the
     order to retreat. Once again they had underestimated the number of the Muten forces, underestimated the ferocity with which
     the Mutens fought. He had clung to his stallion’s neck, watching the foot soldiers scramble for safety beneath a volley of
     razor-sharp spears that whined above the wind. From his perch on a rocky promontory, he had counted the bodies, slick with
     gore, heaped upon the battlefield. Most of those bodies wore the colors of the Armies of the King. The cries of the wounded
     and the dying, the horns which signaled the retreat, joined in an eerie chorus, punctuated with the shouts of officers as
     they tried to marshal the survivors into some semblance of order. The memory of that sound made his blood run cold, and the
     realization that he was ultimately responsible for those deaths made his sleep restless. They had left Ahga four months ago,
     but it felt like four years.
    Finally Brand spoke, and his voice was heavy with regret and self-reproach. “We’ve got to get you back to Ahga in time for
     that Convening, if we can. I reckon we’ve three months—at the most.”
    “Three months?” Roderic repeated. “That long?”
    “If Phineas sent word to the estates when he sent the messenger to us, some of the Senadors haven’t even heard the news yet.
     And with the weather, and this rebellion, there’re too many Scnadors that can’t leave their estates. For example, Kora-lado
     can’t get out of the Saranevas until spring. The Senadors on the