The Dread Wyrm (Traitor Son Cycle) Read Online Free

woman who had so carefully given the captain the eye knelt gracefully and began to make up a fire. She lit it with a taper and then curtsied—but this time her bright eyes were for Master Smythe.
    Master Smythe surprised them all by watching her as she left for wine and ale, and a tiny wisp of smoke came from one nostril. “Ah, the children of men,” he said. He raised an eyebrow at Gabriel. “What curious animals you are. You don’t want her, but you resent her wanting me.”
    Gabriel’s head snapped back as if he’d been struck and, behind him, Father Arnaud choked on his ale and hid his face.
    “Must you
always
say what other people are thinking?” asked the Red Knight. “It would be a bad enough habit with your own thoughts. Please don’t do it with mine.”
    Master Smythe smiled politely. “But why resent me?”
    Gabriel exhaled for so long that it wasn’t a sigh. It was like a physical release of tension. His eyes moved—
    He shrugged. “I miss the company of women in my bed,” he said with flat honesty. “And I like to be desired.”
    Master Smythe nodded. “As do I. Do you perceive me as a rival?”
    Sauce stepped in. “Given that you’re some sort of god and we’re not, I’m sure he does.” She smiled at the black-haired man. “But he’ll get over it.”
    “I can fight my own fights,” the Red Knight said, putting a hand onSauce’s shoulder. He nodded graciously to Master Smythe. “We are allies. Allies are—often—potential rivals. But I think you put too much on my surface thoughts and my animal reactions. I like a wench, and sometimes,” he smiled, “I do things from habit.”
    Master Smythe nodded. “For my part, I am a surly companion, my
allies
. Do you know that before this little matter of the sorcerer in the north, I was quite happy to lie on my mountain and think? I retreated from this world for reasons. And as I play this game, the reasons seem to me ever more valid.” He looked around. “I am not filled with a sense of ambition or challenge, but just a vague fatigue. Facing our shared foe—” He paused. “I’d really rather that he just went off to another plot, another world.”
    The serving girl returned. She had broad shoulders—extraordinarily broad. She had a peculiar grace, as if life in a big body had forced her to some extraordinary exercises.
    The Red Knight leaned over. “You’re a dancer!” he said, delighted.
    She bobbed her head. “Yes, m’lord,” she said.
    “A Hillman!” Gabriel said.
    Master Smythe laughed. “Surely—surely we call her a Hillwoman.”
    She blushed and looked at the ground and then raised her eyes—to Master Smythe.
    Gabriel took a sip of ale. “I think I’ve lost this round,” he said. Sauce rolled her eyes and leaned against the table.
    The fire roared to life, the kindling bursting into an almost hermetical fire so that the small room was instantly warmer.
    Father Arnaud whispered something as Bad Tom pushed in, and Sauce roared. “It’s like watching two lions with a bunny,” she said.
    Father Arnaud was less than amused.
    Master Smythe took his ale and sat in the chair at the end of the table, and the rest of them made do with two benches and a collection of stools brought by a trio of boys. There wasn’t really room for everyone—Ser Michael was filling out rapidly and bid fair to reach Bad Tom’s size; Bad Tom folded himself into a nook by the chimney, as if storing heat for his future of sleeping out on the moors with his flocks. Sauce hooked a stool across from the captain. Mag came in and settled on the bench next to the captain, and Gavin took the other side. The Keeper took a stool at the far end of the table from Master Smythe. Ser Alcaeus stood behind the captain, leaning with his shoulders wedged into the oak panels. Wilful Murder stood in the doorway for as long as a nun might say a prayer, and the captain made a sign with his hand and the old archer slipped away.
    “Where is the remarkable young