Yesterday's Kings Read Online Free Page A

glasses, beaming at him as he came in.
    “Andrias is off selling your bounty,” she told him. “A mug of ale?”
    He nodded and she drew him a tankard of the dark, bitter beer.
    “You seem”—she hesitated—“unhappy.”
    He took a mouthful of the ale before he replied. “I saw someone today. I …”
    “Abra,” Martia nodded. “Andrias told me. An odd lass, that one—and far beyond your reach. She resents her stepmother, and has little time for anyone save her father.” She shrugged her plump shoulders. “Forget such dreams, lad. Abra’s prideful, and besides, she’s betrothed to Wyllym of Danzigan Keep.”
    Cullyn grinned and took another sup of ale. “I’d not think to bed a lord’s daughter.”
    Martia chuckled, reaching across to pat his cheek. “And before last night, you’d not thought to bed anyone, eh?”
    He felt his cheeks grow warm and hid his face in his mug. Martia laughed aloud. “Elvira’s a fine girl,” she said. “You could do worse. Listen.” Her laughter faded as her tone grew earnest. “Why don’t you give up forest life and live here? With us? We could use a strong young man like you. You’d be useful here, and you’d find a decent enough living. And Elvira to warm your bed.”
    Cullyn set down his mug. “My thanks,” he said, “but no.”
    “Is living alone in the forest so wonderful, then?” Martia fixed him with accusing eyes. “Do you enjoy it so much?”
    He thought a moment and then nodded. “Yes. It’s …” He shrugged. “I enjoy it.”
    “Wondering if you’ll have enough to eat? Snowed in come winter? Dragging that cart here to trade what you’ve hunted down?”
    “Yes,” he said. “But I’ll have a horse soon, and be able to ride.”
    “Obstinate boy.” Martia shook her head in maternal irritation. “You’d be better off here. You could have a warm room, good food. And Elvira.”
    Cullyn emptied his tankard and smiled at her. “I have a warm room,” he said, “and the snow’s not so bad. And I doubt I could live here. I think I’m too used to the forest.”
    “I give up! The gods know, but perhaps you’re fey yourself.”
    “Perhaps,” Cullyn agreed as she drew him another tankard.
    “But don’t say that to anyone else,” she advised. “Folk here think you’re strange enough already. Don’t give them further cause to doubt you.”
    “Why should they?” he asked.
    “Because you live solitary, in the forest, where the fey folk set up their Barrier. Some wonder why you stayed, after your parents died. They wonder if you’re not in league with the Durrym.”
    Cullyn laughed. “I’ve never seen a Durrym. I’ve heard my father’s stories about the Great War, but he said they looked much like us. And he thought they were only fighting us to protect the land that was once theirs.”
    “Likely so,” Martia allowed. “But Lord Bartram’s got a new churchman, who preaches that the Durrym are an abomination, as are all who mingle with them. Which might be you, simply because you live so close to the Alagordar. So be careful, eh?”
    Cullyn nodded, wondering why the Church must make such a fuss of nonevents. The Kandarians had driven the Durrym eastward across the river, and since the Great War there had been little enough fighting. There had been raids in the early years, but nothing since he had grown to what he supposed was his manhood. It seemed to him that the fey folk had gone away, that theAlagordar was marked as division between Kandar and the Durrym. So why condemn anyone for living within the forest?
    “I’ll be careful,” he said. “Indeed, does Andrias find me good prices, I’ll be gone tomorrow.”
    Martia sighed and he drained his mug, announcing his intention of finding his room. He had again drunk more than he was accustomed to, so he found his chamber and stretched on the bed, closing his eyes on hopeless memories of red hair and angry eyes.
    It was twilight before he woke, and his belly rumbled, so he went