Wytchfire (Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

to come join him soon as I could.”
    Something in Rowen’s tone made Sneed nod. “He dead?”
    Rowen started to answer, but his throat constricted. He nodded instead. I’m sorry, Kayden. I took too long.
    Sneed stabbed the fire again, as though he meant to smother the embers but then changed his mind and added another scrap of wood. “Was he a knight, too?”
    Rowen tensed. “I’m not even a squire anymore, so I’m sure as hell not a knight!” He added, “But Kayden was. A good one.”
    Sneed stared off into the trees. “I wanted to be a knight when I was a kid. Would have been happy being a sellsword, too, I guess, but I never was much good in a fight.” His expression turned eager. “If you want to teach me, maybe we can be sellswords together! I’ll loosen your hands, and we can turn it on Dagath when he gets back.”
    Rowen tensed. He knew he only had to nod. Instead, he shook his head. “I’m done being a sellsword.”
    Sneed frowned and Rowen immediately regretted it. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Being a knight’s not all about fighting. There’s reading and writing and laws, too. You have to learn them all.”
    Sneed took another pull of the wine jug. “Anything in those laws about playing hurt then stabbing whoever walks up to help you?” When Rowen did not answer, Sneed added his last scrap of wood to the campfire. “How’d you know it was a trick?”
    Rowen was dangerously close to revealing that his story about being a blacksmith’s son was a lie, though he suspected that Sneed already knew. “Kayden always said if you see a dying man, smell the air. If it don’t smell like shit, he’s faking.”
    Sneed laughed. “I’m glad I smell fresher than that, at least!” His expression sobered, and he stared out at the shadow-wrapped trees. “Here’s what’s bothering me, Squire. When you saw me laying there all groaning and wretched, you called out, said you weren’t buying it, told me to get up and go.”
    Rowen nodded carefully, though he felt silly when he realized that Sneed was not looking.
    “When I didn’t move, you walked up and kicked me—though not half as hard as you could have, I bet. I heard you draw your sword. You missed Dagath hiding in that tree, a ways back with a green cloak over him. Still, you knew it was a trap. You could have stabbed me in the back and been done with it—only you didn’t. Why?”
    Rowen realized he had no answer.
    Sneed nodded. “Would’ve made sense. Not one of the gods would have burned you for it. I’d have done it in your place. And here for all I know, we came out of those damn slums together.”
    He stood up—knife in one hand, wine in the other—and circled around the fire. He moved so purposefully that Rowen wondered for a moment if the robber meant to stab him.
    “I figure you get this as well as anybody, Squire. Most times, you just do what you gotta to keep your blood in the right place.” Sneed looked down. “Sometimes, though, you get to do what you want.” He gave Rowen a final, dull look then simply walked away, vanishing into the night.
    Is this a trick? Rowen wondered, too, if Sneed had only gone to fetch more firewood. But minutes passed, and the balding thief did not return.
    Rowen wasted no more time. He worked his bonds against the tree, wincing when the motion sent jolts of pain through his slashed palm. At last, he broke free. His shoulders ached, but he hurried to free his legs as well. He rose shakily to his feet.
    Sneed had left his satchel by the fire, but Dagath had scattered his meager possessions all over the camp. Rowen gathered them with his good hand. Without his shortsword, he had no weapons save his razor. A pitiful weapon .
    He ripped two strips of cloth from his shirt. Since he had to do so with one hand, the cloth tore unevenly and too far, further souring his already-bedraggled appearance. But that, too, was a concern for another time. Rowen tied one strip of cloth around his