The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) Read Online Free

sight on the downslope. Beyond the river were the straight lines of farm fields stretching into the hazy distance.
    Brock sat in quiet, relishing the peaceful view as the light of the setting sun continued to fade. He tried to internalize the tranquility of the moment, hoping to mend his broken heart. After ten minutes of silence, he finally spoke.
    “ Ellie died, ” he said without looking at Tipper.
    Tipper knew how much Brock ’ s aunt meant to him. He also knew she was quite ill.
    “ I ’ m sorry, Brock. ”
    Brock turned to look at his friend. “ Tip, I had the gold needed to pay a medicus to come help her. I got the last bit I needed from that dirty apothecary and I went straight to the medicus the next morning. ” He looked down as emotion welled up inside. “ But when we got back to my pa ’ s place, she was already dead. ” He paused as a tear dropped off his cheek, carried away by the breeze. “ Why couldn ’ t she hang on a little longer? Why did she have to die? ”
    A quiet moment passed before Tipper spoke. “ You did your best, Brock. She was very ill. What else could you do? ”
    He turned toward Tipper and shouted. “ I could have saved her if I knew how! ”
    Tipper glanced around. “ Quiet! Do you want them to catch us up here? ”
    Brock turned toward the ocean. His mind drifted back to his last conversation with Ellie. After a minute, he spoke again.
    “ I can ’ t live this way, Tipper. I want to make a difference. I need to do something. ”
    Tipper responded, “ What can you do? We ’ re stuck with the lot we ’ re dealt in this life. We just have to ride it out and hope for a better one in the next life. That ’ s what the Ministry tells us, right? ”
    Brock turned toward Tipper. “ I ’ ve decided I won ’ t accept that line of thinking any longer. I want to do something more. I need to try to make my own life, a better life. I don ’ t want to live like this. ”
    Tipper stared back intently, nodding. “ Okay. I assume you have a plan. I know you don ’ t do anything without a plan. ”
    Spinning around, Brock jumped off the merlon onto the wall. He waved Tipper down as he started toward the gate.
    “ Let ’ s go. We have to visit a man at the Aspen Inn. ”
     
    .   .   .
     
    Stars were appearing through the dim light of dusk as dockworkers and sailors streamed through the gate. Like two leaves caught in a swift stream, Brock and Tipper were swept along with the crowd.
    The glowlamps lining Center Street provided an inviting path through the heart of the city. The further they walked, the thinner the crowd became as groups peeled off to their evening destination. By the time they neared the Lower Wall, only a few stragglers remained.
    Brock continually scanned the signs of the shops and inns as they passed. Spotting a sign with a single tree carved into it, he and Tipper broke from the crowd and entered the inn.
    The common room was buzzing with loud conversation. The air carried the aroma of spiced lamb. While some patrons were consuming bowls of stew, most simply had a tankard of ale in hand.
    Brock stepped to the bar and signaled for the barkeep. The man had a round face and bushy black mustache. With sleeves pushed up to his elbows, he wore a dirty apron around his portly mid-section. After handing a fresh ale to a patron, the barkeep slid over and gave them a stare.
    “ What do you boys want? ”
    Brock addressed the large man. “ We ’ re looking for a fellow named Alonzo. ”
    The barkeep snorted. “ Is that so? Well, you ’ re in luck ‘ cause he ’ s right over there. ”
    He nodded toward a man at the end of the bar, his balding head sporting less hair than his beard-covered face. The barkeep stepped away to help another customer.
    Brock traversed the bar, claiming the stool next to the man as Tipper sat at another.
    “ I ’ m looking for Alonzo. I hear he can help me with something. Are you the man I ’ m looking for? ”
    The man glanced over,