Devlin's Justice Read Online Free Page A

sword, not valued it for the superb weapon it was. That there had been a time when he had once been a craftsman, renowned for the jewelry he created, who had seen only the beauty of the sword’s crafting. But the past three years had changed him, and with or without the fabled sword, no one would ever mistake him for anything other than a warrior.
    He wondered how the King and court would react to his return. They knew that he was on his way; the wretched soul stone would have told them as much, as it faithfully tracked every league of his travels. But did they think him returning in triumph? Or in failure? They had dispatched him on a fool’s errand, sending him to seek a sword that had been lost in battle nearly fifty years ago. It had been a brilliant plan, for it had taken Devlin far away from the one place he could have influenced the course of events in Jorsk. In Kingsholm Devlin was not just the Chosen One, he was also a King’s councilor and the General of the Royal Army. While he was at court he could use his power and influence to challenge the conservative council—hold King Olafur to his promise to seek true reform.
    His few friends at court might be hopeful, but perhaps it was better that the rest of the court think him returning to report his failure. They could use this pretext to strip Devlin of his post as Chosen One and the titles he had earned. Disgraced, he would be no threat to anyone.
    They would never expect that Devlin had done the impossible and found the lost sword. The common people would see his success as proof that he had indeed been chosen by the Gods—as uncomfortable as that idea made him feel. And Devlin would become too powerful for the court to ignore. So if his enemies even suspected he might have the sword, they would try to destroy him before he reached Kingsholm.
    That his journey had passed untroubled so far spoke much about their probable contempt for his abilities.
    The door to the common room swung open, and the inn-wife entered, followed by an elderly man.
    “Sir, this is Jonam, the healer I spoke of,” Kasja said.
    Jonam might have been a strong man in his day, but his broad shoulders were stooped with age, and what hair he had left was the color of pewter. He wore no torc, but slung across one shoulder was a well-worn leather pack marked with the sigil of Lady Geyra, the patron of healers.
    “The inn-wife tells me that you are a true healer,” Devlin said.
    “I was a healer of the second rank,” Jonam replied. “I served at the temple in Skarnes for nearly fifty years, but when my power waned, I returned to where I had lived as a boy.”
    Even the smallest of villages had someone who served as bonesetter or herbalist, but true healers were rare. While a few of Lady Geyra’s servants wandered the roads, most were to be found in city temples or attached to a noble’s household. Finding a healer of the second rank, even one who no longer practiced his craft, was an unexpected gift, and the reason why Devlin had chosen to spend the night in this place.
    “My companion is in need of your services,” Devlin said.
    “No I am not,” Didrik insisted, but then a fit of coughing gave the lie to his words.
    “What harm can it do?” Stephen said. “We are here, and the healer is here, so why not speak with him?”
    Didrik shook his head. “I just need to catch my breath is all.”
    One could almost believe him, if you did not notice his fever-bright eyes, or how his right arm was wrapped around his ribs to ease their pain.
    “This is not a choice,” Devlin said. “Mistress Kasja, if you would be so kind as to show Didrik and the healer to a chamber?”
    The inn-wife nodded. “Of course. If you would come with me?”
    Saskia rose to follow, but Didrik waved her back. After a moment she returned to her seat.
    The inn-wife and her son came in, bearing bowls of hot soup and a platter of freshly baked bread. A hot midday meal was an unaccustomed luxury for the travelers,