Servant of a Dark God Read Online Free

Talen, “but isn’t this a bit much for a runt like me?”
    “He’s going to run,” Roddick called.
    “I’m not running,” said Talen.
    “Come on, son,” Tilth said.
    They approached him like one might a boar caught in a trap: careful and bent on injury.
    A flash of orange caught Talen’s eye, and he spotted a tall, bald man with an enormous black beard standing in the gateway. He was an official, wrapped in the blue and orange sash of the Mokaddian Fir-Noy Clan.
    Fear shot through him, and Talen took a step back.
    The Fir-Noy had shed plenty of Koramite blood over the years. That was not to say the Koramites hadn’t defended themselves. But everyone knew that Koramite and Fir-Noy didn’t mix. Lords, Fir-Noy didn’t mix with half of the Mokaddian clans, especially not the Shoka of Stag Home.
    But there stood that Fir-Noy official, acting like he owned the place, and here the Shoka village men had their tools pointed at him as if he were a rabid dog.
    By law, if a Koramite heard a Mokaddian cry out for help and did not run to the Mokaddian’s aid, the Koramite would be punished. Depending on the urgency of the situation, he might be whipped. The law, however, did not go both ways. Talen’s cries to be rescued from these madmen would go unheeded.
    “I’m here for chickens,” he protested.
    It was then that Long Lark broke from the pack and set himself to throw his noose.
    Talen hesitated for a fraction of a second.
    Long Lark adjusted his grip on the noose.
    By the farting lord of pigs , Talen thought. I’ve done nothing. Nothing at all.
    Koramites had been dragged behind horses before. Not here, of course, in a Shoka village. Not yet. But these were Mokaddians, after all. Fir-Noy, Vargon, or Shoka—did it matter which clan they belonged to?
    He looked into their eyes and saw it did not. Talen took a step backward.
    Long Lark swung his noose.
    In his mind’s eye, Talen saw himself hanging from the village wall with that noose around his neck. The thought jolted him. And despite his earlier protestations, he turned tail and ran.
    A shout rose up behind him so full of menace that it almost loosed his bowels.
    He stretched his stride, expecting that noose to fall about his shoulders or to catch an arrow in his back. He ran like a thief, like a rabbit coursed by dogs. He ran with the speed only fear and bewilderment bring.
    He sprinted back over the bridge and thought he saw the flash of an arrow out of the corner of his eye. He needed to make the woods, the only place where he might have a chance to lose these madmen. Back up the road he ran, the dirt hard under his bare feet.
    Talen was not the fastest runner in the district, but he wasn’t the slowest either. He knew he should measure his pace, but he’d seen that lazy-eyed Sabin among them, him and his shaved head and violent speed, and Talen sprinted for all he was worth.
    He could hear the men behind him and pushed himself until his breath came in ragged gasps and his head felt dizzy. But it did not last. By the time he reached the oat field the rogue cows had broken into, his lungs and legs were burning, and he had to stop. He panted and turned.
    Sabin, a look of murder in his eyes, was almost upon him.
    Movement farther up the road drew his attention: a rider galloping toward him on a horse. They were boxing him in.
    Lords, but he had to make the woods.
    Two more ragged breaths and he hopped the fence on his left and the fieldstones piled up next to it and struggled up a fallow field of knee-high grass.
    The tall grass pulled at his feet. The slope sapped his strength. But neither seemed to slow Sabin.
    The woods stood only a few paces away.
    Talen glanced back to see Sabin reach out with his long tattooed arm for Talen’s hair.
    River loved Talen’s hair. Loved it long. And at that moment he wished he’d never listened to his sister and her stupid appraisals of men.
    Sabin grabbed a handful of Talen’s hair. He yanked, brought Talen up short,