Read Online The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two by Craig R. Saunders, Craig Saunders - Free Book Online Page B

as
Roskel’s head was finally nodding, it came back with a vengeance. The storm
must have had another riding its coattails, he thought dozily.
                Thunder
crashed overhead and the storm found new frenzy. One of his skins blew free to
whip across the copse with a flapping, fluttering sound like bat wings in the
dusk. Rain came into Roskel’s hide steadily, soaking him through. He was too
miserable to bother moving, but in some deep, tired part of his mind he knew he
was in trouble. He had to find true shelter. In the morning he would have to
make for the nearest inn, or even ask a farmer for shelter out of the storm.
The problem was he had no idea how far he would have to travel in the rain.
                If
he was lucky the storm would blow itself out by first light, but he was not a
man given to trusting to luck. He weighed the dice at every opportunity.
                But
what could he do against the weather? He could not run a trick on the gods. He
could not fool the storm. If it meant to blow for a week, all he could do was
ride it out.
                And
so thinking, he pulled his cloak tighter, listened to the beasts of the night
in their shuffling, prowling walks make their way through the copse in search
of gods knew what.
                The
light broke. The storm did not.
     
    *
     

 
    Chapter Fourteen
     
    Roskel
was soaked to the bone. He breakfasted on some hard bread which he held out in
the rain to soften, and a handful of nuts he had picked along the road a ways
back. At least he would be regular, he thought with a wry grin.
                There
was nothing else for it. His fingertips were wrinkled from exposure to the
constant rain, his joints seemed to ache, from the base of his neck to his
toes. He was tired enough to sleep in the mud, but he knew that could be the
death of him. He was well dressed, and in the dry he would have been warm enough,
but now he was sodden he felt every chill.
                He
sneezed violently and cursed.
                That
was just what he needed now, a case of the chills. Warm up, and everything
will look alright tomorrow…really, it will …no matter how convincing he
tried to be he could not fool himself. This storm was not going to stop. He
could not wait it out. He would have to ride.
                And
hope for the best.
                Trust
to luck, perhaps. He hated trusting to luck. Largely because his luck was
terrible and whenever he did, he lost.
                With
his meagre possessions upon his horse and camp broken, he mounted and headed
back to the road.
                Where
the road had once been, there was now a river. Water flowed freely along the
road, a dirt brown river with countless potholes hidden. Dangerous for a man
afoot. Potentially deadly for a horse that couldn’t see its footing.
                He
had no choice, though, he would have to risk it.
                Setting
off, more miserable than he could ever remember, he made for the south.
     
    *

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Part II.
    Year's End
     

 
    Chapter Fifteen
     
    Roskel
rode for the best part of the day. The rain had shrivelled his pride and joy
and that just added to his misery. A man had to have something to boast about.
On the plus side there wouldn’t be many to bother him on this journey.
                Lunch
was a sad affair, soggy bread and a piece of cheese eaten astride Minstrel.
                And
then, shivering and sneezing regularly now, certain he had a case of the chills
coming on, he spied a few buildings in the distance.
                He
set off at a trot and made for the buildings.
                He
didn’t care. He would have settled for Wraith’s Guard right then.
                A
small hamlet hove into sight. Its wide streets were running water, running over
the front doors.