The Testing Read Online Free

dozen nations. If any man could wage war upon a slavers’ guild, it was Corthain Kalarien. 
    The weight of their trust made him weary. It had at Dark River, and it did now. But he was their domn, and he took his oaths seriously. He had led them here, and he would see them safely home. 
    “We shall not disappoint you, my lord,” said Rikon.
    “Aye,” said Morwen. “Any man doesn’t pull his weight, I’ll strip the skin from his hide with my bare hands.”
    “Now, that would be a sight,” said Corthain. “I expect nothing less from you. Keep your wits about you, all of you.” 
    They went about their tasks, and Corthain turned to watch the harbor once more. The ship slid into its proper pier, and Corthain’s people piled the casks of wine on the deck. At last the sailors tied the mooring lines, and Corthain strode down the ramp, the stone of the pier hard beneath his boots.
    So. Home again. After twelve years. 
    The captain, a stout man in weather-stained canvas, joined him.
    Corthain turned. “Luthair has seen to your final payment, I trust?”
    “Aye, my lord,” said the captain. “It’s just…I wanted to speak to you. I had four sons at Dark River.”
    Long experience kept Corthain from flinching. “Did they make it?”
    The captain shook his head. “Two of them fell. But the other two...they would have perished, if not for you. I just wanted to say…it was an honor to have you aboard my ship, my lord.”
    “Thank you,” said Corthain, “but there were many brave men at the Battle of Dark River, your sons among them. I was just in the right place at the right time.” 
    Yes, he thought, the right place at the right time. A quarter of a million men from a dozen different nations died on that day because of his decisions. The dead had lain unburied for so long that thousands of them rose again as demon-possessed ghouls, and it had been another battle to deal with them. Uncounted thousands of women became widows on that day. 
    And they called him a hero for it.
    But he thanked the captain again and went to the docks. In short order he found teamsters available for hire, and led them back to the ship. The porters loaded the four wagons, and they rumbled into the city, Corthain’s guards keeping a watchful eye on the casks of wine.
    “Where to, sir?” said the lead teamster, a gray-haired man with muscle-knotted arms and a gut like one of the wine casks. He seemed scandalized that Corthain had chosen to walk, rather than take a horse, a carriage, or a palanquin like a proper noble.
    “Is the Silver Coin Inn still open?” said Corthain.
    “Aye, it is,” said the teamster. “Decent enough place for a merchant, though not fine enough for a lord.”
    “Well, I am here as a merchant,” said Corthain, slapping one of the casks, “so it will serve.” 
    The wagons rolled up the street, the horses snorting and grunting with the load. Crowds thronged the docks, sailors and laborers going about their business. Quite a few Jurgurs, remarkable for their red hair. No doubt refugees from the horde had wound up here. And slaves, Jurgur slaves and slaves from every other nation, slumped in their ragged orange clothes. No nobles or Adepts, but Corthain supposed they rarely came to this part of Araspan. Corthain looked towards the towers, and one caught his eye, a two-hundred foot fortress of gleaming red stone. The ancestral tower of House Kalarien.
    Corthain didn’t know whether his father still lived.
    “Tell me,” said Corthain. “Who is First Magister now?”
    The teamster blinked. “Magister Talvin, sir. Three years now, with two left on his term.” 
    “What about Arthain Kalarien?” said Corthain.
    “Oh, him, sir?” said the teamster. “He’s the Lord Governor this year. Deals with all the matters of the city, oversees the law courts and such. Keeps the slaves in line, he does. A hard man, but fair, I think.”
    “Yes,” said Corthain. “I’m sure.” His father was many things, and