The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) Read Online Free
Author: K.J. Hargan
with a flutter of his hand to invalidate Zik's presence. Then Otodyo straightened and assumed an officious pose.
"With the great honor of King Hathabanya, our neighbor to the south, visiting," King Otodyo announced to the happy throng, "we also celebrate Arnwylf of Bittel, Prince of the Weald, and third in line to the throne of Reia, and now slayer of a record sized nyati."
Arnwylf visibly winced at the titles. He wished he had never told any of Zik's people about his heritage. He felt, and always would feel, like a simple country lad.
The mob of lords and ladies applauded Arnwylf until his face turned red. King Hathabanya held up his hands. The king from the southern land looked remarkably like King Otodyo, and Arnwylf wondered if they could be brothers. Both were overly adorned with gold trinkets, and necklaces of many colored jewels.
"Dear Arnwylf," King Hathabanya proclaimed, "choose one of my daughters for marriage tonight, at this feast, multiply our joy."
King Otodyo, who had opened his mouth to speak, was noticeably annoyed at having been preempted by his guest sovereign's offer, and seemed to sputter for a moment, quietly spitting unformed words.
"And you shall marry one of my daughters tonight, as well," King Otodyo said with a deep, meaning voice, regaining his composure.
King Hathabanya clapped his hands and his daughters broke from the party and lined up before him. The princesses were mostly young, barely marriageable age, yet they all seemed excited at the chance to wed a now famous and noted visitor from the lands to the north.
Not to be outdone, King Otodyo clapped his hands, and his daughters lined up in front of him.
"Choose," King Otodyo said, "choose, son from the Weald."
"King-," Arnwylf stumbled, "Kings, I am greatly honored, but..." Arnwylf helplessly looked to Zik for help, who flared his eyes telling Arnwylf to go on.
"Do you refuse my offer?" King Hathabanya said with a gentle malice to his voice, a quivering smile on his fat face.
"I come from a land to the north," Arnwylf carefully said. "A land filled with ice and snow."
"Yes, yes," King Otodyo said. "We know of your land. Will you choose one of my daughters to wed?"
"My father, Kellabald," Arnwylf said, desperate to avoid the offers from the kings, "was a great man. He led the combined human armies against the evil garond general Ravensdred at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowland."
Arnwylf looked around. No one dare interrupt as he spoke of his father. But the look of expectation in every eye made Arnwylf feel a rising panic.
"My father," Arnwylf went on, "gave his life. You might say he lost, but he won. His leadership broke the garond army and saved our lives, but he died. What greater honor can we bestow on a man who gives his life to save his people?"
"Do you not want to marry one of my daughters?" King Otodyo asked, his eyes narrowing with anger.
"Your people nursed me for a moonth," Arnwylf said, continuing with humility, "after I was fished out of the ocean by my good friend, Captain Zik." The Kings glared with disapproval at Zik. "I assure you," Arnwylf continued, "I realize the burden I must have been. Your people have been only kind and honorable to me. I have learned much, and love your people..."
Arnwylf looked around with dismay, he spread his long fingers imploring someone to help him. The well dressed lords and ladies dumbly stared back at Arnwylf, as if they assumed it was a tradition of wealders to stumble and stutter, and they didn't want to be rude and interrupt his mounting embarrassment.
"Yes," Zik suddenly spoke. "But to choose properly, the Lord of the North must first see his prospective brides dance."
"What?" King Otodyo boomed indignantly.
"I chose my third wife after seeing her dance," King Hathabanya sniffed with regal disdain.
Zik ran to the musicians and urgently prodded them.
"Play, play," Zik commanded the surprised musicians, who quickly lifted their instruments and broke into a somber
"With the great honor of King Hathabanya, our neighbor to the south, visiting," King Otodyo announced to the happy throng, "we also celebrate Arnwylf of Bittel, Prince of the Weald, and third in line to the throne of Reia, and now slayer of a record sized nyati."
Arnwylf visibly winced at the titles. He wished he had never told any of Zik's people about his heritage. He felt, and always would feel, like a simple country lad.
The mob of lords and ladies applauded Arnwylf until his face turned red. King Hathabanya held up his hands. The king from the southern land looked remarkably like King Otodyo, and Arnwylf wondered if they could be brothers. Both were overly adorned with gold trinkets, and necklaces of many colored jewels.
"Dear Arnwylf," King Hathabanya proclaimed, "choose one of my daughters for marriage tonight, at this feast, multiply our joy."
King Otodyo, who had opened his mouth to speak, was noticeably annoyed at having been preempted by his guest sovereign's offer, and seemed to sputter for a moment, quietly spitting unformed words.
"And you shall marry one of my daughters tonight, as well," King Otodyo said with a deep, meaning voice, regaining his composure.
King Hathabanya clapped his hands and his daughters broke from the party and lined up before him. The princesses were mostly young, barely marriageable age, yet they all seemed excited at the chance to wed a now famous and noted visitor from the lands to the north.
Not to be outdone, King Otodyo clapped his hands, and his daughters lined up in front of him.
"Choose," King Otodyo said, "choose, son from the Weald."
"King-," Arnwylf stumbled, "Kings, I am greatly honored, but..." Arnwylf helplessly looked to Zik for help, who flared his eyes telling Arnwylf to go on.
"Do you refuse my offer?" King Hathabanya said with a gentle malice to his voice, a quivering smile on his fat face.
"I come from a land to the north," Arnwylf carefully said. "A land filled with ice and snow."
"Yes, yes," King Otodyo said. "We know of your land. Will you choose one of my daughters to wed?"
"My father, Kellabald," Arnwylf said, desperate to avoid the offers from the kings, "was a great man. He led the combined human armies against the evil garond general Ravensdred at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowland."
Arnwylf looked around. No one dare interrupt as he spoke of his father. But the look of expectation in every eye made Arnwylf feel a rising panic.
"My father," Arnwylf went on, "gave his life. You might say he lost, but he won. His leadership broke the garond army and saved our lives, but he died. What greater honor can we bestow on a man who gives his life to save his people?"
"Do you not want to marry one of my daughters?" King Otodyo asked, his eyes narrowing with anger.
"Your people nursed me for a moonth," Arnwylf said, continuing with humility, "after I was fished out of the ocean by my good friend, Captain Zik." The Kings glared with disapproval at Zik. "I assure you," Arnwylf continued, "I realize the burden I must have been. Your people have been only kind and honorable to me. I have learned much, and love your people..."
Arnwylf looked around with dismay, he spread his long fingers imploring someone to help him. The well dressed lords and ladies dumbly stared back at Arnwylf, as if they assumed it was a tradition of wealders to stumble and stutter, and they didn't want to be rude and interrupt his mounting embarrassment.
"Yes," Zik suddenly spoke. "But to choose properly, the Lord of the North must first see his prospective brides dance."
"What?" King Otodyo boomed indignantly.
"I chose my third wife after seeing her dance," King Hathabanya sniffed with regal disdain.
Zik ran to the musicians and urgently prodded them.
"Play, play," Zik commanded the surprised musicians, who quickly lifted their instruments and broke into a somber
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