Daughter of Prophecy Read Online Free

walked with his short-legged, rolling gait to an area of torn grass. He turned back and pointed down. “Here, m’lord. This is what I am talking about.”
    Rhiannon slid off, handed the reins to Phelan, then followed her father to where the loreteller stood. The marks were easily distinguished in the soft, wet soil. Long clumps of grass had been gouged up where one or more creatures had pivoted and twisted. The deep parallel lines sliced through the dirt had to have come from sharp claws or talons. Looking at the width of the footprints, Rhiannon realized that the loreteller was correct—the creatures that did this were large.
    â€œFrom what our men have told me, m’lord,” Girard said quietly, “and from the evidence of my eyes, I can come to but one conclusion: winged horrors of the night.”
    Rhiannon looked up and caught her father’s gaze. Worry was evident behind his eyes as he looked from her to her brothers, to the three warriors, then back to her again. His hand dropped to his sword hilt.
    Two days past Tellan had taken his family and lone household servant to the town of Lachlann, a ride of more than two turns of the glass. They were staying in four of the upper rooms of the largest inn. This unusual move had been necessitated by his involvement in the tense negotiations concerning the wool trade. Tellan had not wanted to leave his wife and children alone during what promised to be a time of unrest.
    When a messenger woke them at the inn an hourglass before dawn, Rhiannon had asked to come home along with her father, with Creag and Phelan echoing her plea. Their mother, Lady Mererid, was gone to interview a prospective tutor for the three of them, taking five of the Rogoth warriors with her as an escort. She was not expected back in Lachlann until late in the day. Considering the tension in the town between the Sabinis merchants and other small Dinari lords allied with the Rogoth kinsmen, her father had agreed to bring Rhiannon and the boys along.
    From the lines creasing his brow, she could read his thoughts: he had brought them from one danger into a greater one.
    Stone-faced, Tellan surveyed the ravaged sheep. “Tell me what you saw, Serous.”
    â€œThe fire at the hlaford woke me, m’lord. The roof was aflame.” Serous had only two upper teeth, both slanting sideways. He kept running his tongue around them in a nervous tic. “At first I was concerned for your lordship’s safety, but then I remembered how everyone was in Lachlann. As I came running up, the hlaford looked like a huge torch. The flames was being fanned by . . . ” He looked at those around him, then down at his feet.
    The nervous movement among the other herdsmen ceased. They waited with pensive faces.
    Tellan reached out and gripped the old man’s shoulder. “Serous de Rogoth en Caillen, you strapped on your sword and rode by my father’s side every time the kinsmen were called out. And you have served me with honor these last years. Tell it straight and know I will believe you.”
    Serous took a deep breath. “It was like Girard says, m’lord. Him being a great loreteller and such, he has seen it true. Winged horrors of the night. That’s what they had to be, just like in the old stories. At least four of them. As you said, m’lord, I was a warrior until my joints started to swell, and no man can say he seen my backside when cold steel was drawn.” He stood up straight. “Fearsome I was. Ask them that knew me when I could grip a sword.”
    â€œNo need to ask. I know your mettle.”
    The old herdsman’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he regarded Tellan with watery eyes. “I ran from them things, m’lord,” he confessed softly, his weathered face twisting in misery. “I left the sheep unattended and ran for my life. The other herders were just following my lead when they ran, too. Then the winged horrors was free to do