Tides of Rythe (The Rythe Trilogy) Read Online Free Page A

them with her life, and more than once they had saved her from death. She knew they were stronger together. They were an army. An army of ravens, caught up in a storm.
    Ravens did not wish. They flew, and they fought for their territory, they protected each other. Together, they were stronger.
    Once, it had been her and Roth. Now they were greater. They had a chance, tiny though it was. A chance to live, to change. To win?
    She laughed. Butterfly, raven, what did it matter? Both were subject to the blowing of the wind.
    The Sard rode on, the suns shone, and sweat poured. She looked around again, taking in the paladin’s faces, those that she could see. Briskle was masked, in his helm as he always was. She knew even were she to call him he would be silent, for all he could do was speak to animals. Cruelly, the talent did not extend to humans.
    Quintal, their leader, was not in sight.
    She was surrounded by the Sard, all of whom were like the giant Carth in so many respects. Carth was taciturn in the extreme, admittedly. At first she had likened them to the silent Briskle, but after a short time with no other distractions – the first opportunity she had to be around him and actually observe – she realised that he talked more than any other among the group. His hands were in almost constant motion.
    Typraille was the second most companionable of the group, after j’ark, and in Typraille there was none of the thorny tension that was often present when she spoke with j’ark long into the evening.
    Typraille was gifted with a certain kindness, in a fatherly way. It was refreshing among so many warriors.
    Disper and Yuthran were out of sight, as was Unthor Ren Un Gor. It did not matter that she could not see them. She knew they were there, like shining sentinels, protecting her from harm.
    Would that she knew her companions better.
    A soft cry came from behind her, and she turned her attention to the last of her companions, the sad figure laid out in the back of the wagon.
    She was just a girl. It was for her that Tirielle travelled to Beheth.
    The girl’s eyes were covered in cloth. Tirielle knew from experience not to remove the binding. The girl’s eyes saw more than Tirielle wished to know. Infected by some strange disease that the Sard had called the blight, her eyes, usually of myriad colours, were blooded and stained red to the pupil.
    Sometimes, words were placed in Tirielle’s head, and she knew the girl’s suffering. She was locked in a cage by the strange malady inflicted on her during her time as a captive of the Protectorate.
    Fate was well and good, but Tirielle had vowed to cure the Seer first.
    There was more reason to head for Beheth. It was their best chance of finding answers. Even if it were not for the seer she would gladly go anywhere but where the Sard were intent on taking her. Beheth held everything. If the wizard’s location had ever been written down they would find it there. The library was immense, housed in not one but thirty buildings.
    Sometimes she thought the Sard placed duty above people. Tirielle would not fall into the same trap. People came first. The Seer was her duty, not the wizard. Everything had its place, everything had its time. Dran A’m Dralorn, Tirielle’s long dead father, had known that well. It was a lesson she would never forget.
    Something was coming. Her sight was good. She focused on it, squinting slightly against the glare. Any distraction was welcome.
    Slowly, a dark brown shape broke the horizon. Roth approached, from ahead. She watched her friend, marvelling at the speed with which it ran. Within minutes, it had passed Cenphalph with a few words, and approached her, keeping pace with the wagon’s horses. Tirielle noted how the beast ’ s breath still came easily, despite the distance it had run.
    “Greetings, lady, I believe I may be able to make the heat more tolerable,” said Roth, huge grin on its face.
    “I cannot moult, if that is what you have in