Fortress of Mist Read Online Free Page A

reference to ally or opponent slip past them both. He sipped again from his cup.
    “Do your men practice their archery often?”
    “With all due respect, my lord,” Thomas answered, “I think you mean to question me about the distance between the men and their targets.”
    This time, the earl did not bother to hide surprise.
    “You are a man of observation,” Thomas said simply. “And a fighting man. I saw your eyes measure the ground from where the grass was trampled to where the targets stand. I would guess a man with experience in fighting would think it senseless to have practice at such great distance.”
    “Yes,” the earl said. “I had wondered. But I had also reserved judgment.”
    “I am having the men experiment with new bows.”
    “New bows?”
    Thomas showed the question had been indiscreet by ignoring it. “In so doing, I also wish them to understand that I desire them to survive battles, not die gloriously. Distance ensures that.”
    The earl took his rebuke with a calm nod. “Truly, a remarkable philosophy in this age.”
    Thomas did not tell the earl it was a strategy already over a thousand years old from a far land, a strategy contained in the books of power, hidden far from here, that had enabled him to conquer Magnus.
    “Not one soldier died as Magnus fell,” Thomas said instead. “That made it much easier to obtain loyalty from a fighting force.”
    “You have studied warfare?”
    “In a certain manner, yes.” Thomas also decided it would be wiserto hide that he could read English and Latin—a rare ability, restricted to the higher-ranked priests or monks—and also read and speak the noble’s language of French.
    “When I arrived,” the earl said, “I had not decided what I might do about your new status. I feared I might be forced to waste time by gathering a full force and laying a dreadfully long siege. I have decided against that if you agree to be an ally.”
    “The answer is yes. And again, I thank you.”
    “You might not feel that way when you learn more,” the earl said heavily.
    Thomas raised an eyebrow to frame his question.
    “You may remain lord here with my blessing,” the earl said, “but I wish to seal with you a loyalty pact.”
    Thomas hid his joy. A protracted war would not occur!
    “That sounds like a reason for celebration, not concern,” Thomas said carefully. “You suggested I may not thank you.”
    The earl pursed his lips. When he spoke, his voice was thick with regret. “I am here to request you go north and defeat the approaching Scots.”
    Thomas didn’t dare blink. To say yes might mean death. To refuse might mean death. He began to formulate a reply.
    “Come with me,” the earl said, holding up a thick, strong hand to cut Thomas short as he drew a breath. “We shall walk throughout your village.”
    Thomas, still stunned, managed a weak smile. At least he calls it my village .
    They retraced their steps back through the castle keep, and outside, within minutes, the crowded and hectic action of the village market swallowed them. Pigs squealed. Donkeys brayed. Men shouted. Womenshouted. Smells—from the yeasty warmth of baking bread to the pungent filth of emptied chamber pots—swirled around Thomas and the earl.
    Despite the push and shove of the crowd, they walked untouched, their rich purple robes as badges of authority. People parted a path in front of them, as water from a ship’s bow.
    “This battle—”
    The earl held a finger to his lips. “Not yet.”
    They walked.
    Through the market. Past the church in the center of the village. Past the collections of whitewashed houses.
    Finally, at the base of the ramparts farthest from the keep, the Earl of York slowed his stride.
    “Here,” he said. He pointed back at the keep. “Walls tend to have ears.”
    Thomas hoped his face had found calmness by then. “You are asking me to risk my newly acquired lordship by leaving Magnus immediately for battle?”
    “You have no one you