Exiles of Forlorn Read Online Free Page A

Exiles of Forlorn
Book: Exiles of Forlorn Read Online Free
Author: Sean T. Poindexter
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were big moving towers and portable buildings. I was even once called upon to design a horse-mounted, repeating bolt-launcher for an ambitious secondson officer who wanted to lead a cavalry charge of mounted archers. He believed the movement of the running horse could be converted into power for the crank-and-load mechanism of the two-man turret crossbows that often lined fortress walls. The horse would unwittingly take the role of the second man while the rider would occupy himself with steering the horse and aiming the weapon. It wasn’t my idea, and despite my protest that such a device was “impractical” and “beyond extremely stupid,” the lordling lieutenant was insistent. So I built it, and he died. Unfortunately, so did the horse. I felt bad for the horse.
    Still, I was very young for an engineer, commissioned at fifteen, like most men in our kingdom. Most of the time, soldiers that young are good for one thing only ─ dying. I’d proven my worth as an engineer very quickly, a profession that generally went to soldiers with years of experience. That was all before my exile, an event which led to disinheritance and my predicament with Antioc.
    Antioc was rather like my firstson brother: tall, strong and courageous. Unlike my brother, he wasn’t born well. Not even a middlelander, his people were common. As common as one could get, really - unlanded farm folk from the Centerwest region, where the soil was light and full of sharp rocks. Growing up with farm labor had made him powerful, but took most of the time that a better blooded man would have spent learning to read and ride and talk down to his lessers without them realizing he was doing it. I was really good at all three of those, by the way.
    For a boy so born, there were few escapes. If you were particularly good looking or could sing, you might make it into a troupe of bards. Antioc wasn’t unattractive, but he wasn’t what the noble ladies would have called “pretty” and, so far as I knew, didn’t have a singing voice in him. He was strong, though, and didn’t fear much. So, he took the more common escape and became a fighter. He was well suited to it.
    It was Antioc’s lack of gentility that led to his exile. It would have been his death, if not for my intervention. I don’t have a lot of things that I’ve done of which I’m particularly proud, but saving Antioc is one of them. The matter involved a surly thirdson officer and his ungallant behavior toward a watergirl. At least that was what I gathered. Contrary to sworn testimony, I did not witness the event in question.
    I was called to trial the same day as him, and our sessions were close. Mine was first, ahead of his by three. We were set before a lord magister to decide the fate of all military prisoners. Most were there for the same reason as me: desertion. There were a few present for other crimes: theft, insubordination, a few assaults and even one or two murders. The crime didn’t really matter; the punishment would be the same, only differing with respect to one’s blood. Noble born could choose exile—with forfeiture of land and title—or imprisonment. Middlelanders and common folk didn’t get a choice. The former were sent to prison, the latter executed. It sounds harsh, except that the bulk of common folk enlisted in the King’s army after being captured for some other crime and given a choice to join the war in exchange for a pardon. The rest were conscripted. Antioc happened to be one of those unfortunate common men who joined the army voluntarily. Noble, but it wouldn’t save him.
    So I sat, watching Antioc give his account of the events to the bloated magister. Antioc had been dismissed from his watch, where he’d been assigned after being wounded in battle. On his way through the yard, he came upon an officer and two of his minions harassing a pretty, little watermaid near her post at the well. Antioc, being the do-right sort, intervened. He was ordered to stand
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