Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

children nearby joined in.
    “Children, please!” cried one of the mothers, but it was useless—the children were too excited. Some were scared, and clung to their mothers’ pants. Even some of the troll children, typically braver than the others, asked in terror again and again if the ghost was real.  
    The hour passed slowly, and what would normally have been merry feasting felt like a solemn affair. The imminence of change was in the air. Most of the townsfolk who believed there was a ghost feared that more would come; that somehow, though Grelion had never found their fair village, malevolent spirits had, and they would turn good Rislind into a nesting haven for their wandering evil. Rislind’s militia did possess two great specimens of strength to combat outside forces—a man and woman, both human. Neither could do a thing against a spirit, and the town knew it.
    Rislind had long prided itself on the brute strength of Taisle Bellwend, a gifted young man of twenty-two years, proficient with bow and arrow as well as unarmed combat. Pursaiones Medeflour had always been the one to win in competitions of swordplay—despite being a girl, she had taken up the blade with natural ease, and ever defeated the men and boys she’d come across in the Rislind Fair tournaments. Now a full grown woman, Pursaiones was deadly quick, and Rislind often thought of her as the militia’s greatest asset. Though Rislind had never required defense, except from an occasional rogue wolf, cougar, or bear, the comfort offered by Taisle and Pursaiones’s collective abilities was tremendous. It was no surprise that both of them had a growing throng that traced their steps through the square, producing a steady stream of questions:
    “Can you kill a person twice?”
    “Taisle, it’s going to have to be you to go into the forest and find it. Are you up to this? Please restore the peace here.”
    “Have you ever heard of a ghost attacking?”
    “It’s only a matter of time, Pursaiones, before you come to blows with this ghoul!”
    “You better be prepared to keep us safe—you are, aren’t you?”
    “Will you please find and unmask the fiend?”
    The questions were ignored and Pursaiones spoke to them:
    “No one has ever fought a spirit, and I don’t think anyone will—it has not been proven that there even is a ghost!”
     
    Mayor Doings was seen from the side of the town square, lumbering toward the front platform where he would stand to address the restless audience. He walked slowly but with purpose, dressed in his traditional attire: a cobalt jacket that swung down to his knees, black tights and shoes, and on his head a tan hat with an enormous brim stretched out at odd angles. Feathers poked out from the hat in odd places, and he seemed altogether disheveled—his jutting triangle jaw was framed by a sagging mop of greyed facial hair, and drooping from his half-open mouth was a thin pipe. His belly bulged when he propped himself against the podium that was erected in the front of the square, and his hands began to fidget around for his matches. The crowd roared with anticipation, chattering restlessly until the moment when Doings would silence them and begin to speak. Taisle and Pursaiones stood together near the front, patiently awaiting the words from their haphazard mayor. To their left was a group of trolls, all wearing their festive clothing—as Sundays called for—and at their feet were the gnome children, sitting up front so as to see what would happen, bored and growing irritated.
    “Good, eh hem. Good Morn—” Doings began hacking violently at the podium, as he had tried to speak at the same time as lighting his pipe. He’d inhaled a pouch full of ash. “Agh, ugh…”
    “Crazy old fool!” shouted one of the children.
    “Ex—excuse me. I will not dally, as you all know a ghost is preparing to strike….”
    “Whaaa!” the crowd roared in unison. A great wave of shock and fear rolled through the crowd, and