Dragon Blood-Hurog 2 Read Online Free
Author: Patricia Briggs
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Fantasy - General
half a day's ride to the south. Hurog bordered the ocean, but her shores were too rocky for ships to harbor in. "They must not have caught jobs with the merchants going south and decided to become self-employed." Sometimes mercenaries didn't see the difference between looting on
a battlefield and looting from anyone they could. "I'll see if anyone in Tyrfannig wants the bodies. Otherwise we'll bury them ourselves, eh?"
"Yes, my lord."
I started to turn away, then realized something about the wounds I'd seen on the bodies. "Who took them down?" Atwater was famed for his bow work and could use an ax on people as well as wood, but he'd never have taken on these bandits armed with nothing more than a knife. Yet the two bodies with the most obvious death wounds had been killed by a short blade, not an ax. I didn't know about the third—and wasn't about to examine the bodies more closely with all the children milling about.
"No, sir. My oldest boy, Fennel, saw them coming in time to warn us. I sent Rowan to you, and we waited. After a bit I tracked Fennel's trail to where he'd seen the bandits. And I found them three dead, sir. And I found what killed 'em, too. You'll never guess."
As we'd spoken, Atwater's wife had come out of the house with a little sprite of a girl about six.
"It was a girl," the child caroled in satisfied tones. "A girl killed them bandits all by herself." Atwater's left eyebrow buried itself in his hairline. His wife shrugged.
"My aunt could have killed them," I said. "Why are you so surprised a woman took care of them?" Atwater shook his head. "Maybe Stala could at that. But I'd be surprised if a man in this woman's condition could have walked from where we stand to my home, let alone killed three healthy men with naught but a puny knife. Would you come look at her?"
Bemused, I nodded at Oreg. "Stay out here and keep the babes out from under Pansy's feet, please?" Tosten gave his reins to Oreg, too.
Atwater's house was dark and close, insulated for winter with dried grasses and straw. I had to duck my head to avoid rubbing the ceiling.
The fire in the hearth was more for light than warmth—that would change as winter approached. One of
Atwater's older daughters sat on a nearby bench sewing, a bucket of water by her feet should a spark fly
out and touch either fur or straw. She nodded at me, but turned shyly back to her work. I didn't know how she could sew in the dim light. Even with the fire so near, I could barely tell there was a person buried in the furs in front of the hearth.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html But I could smell the distinctive odor of rotting flesh. I knelt beside the furs and touched the skin on the back of the unconscious woman's neck, feeling the dry heat.
"She hasn't moved since I found her, my lord," said Atwater. "Her weapon's on the table. After seeing the bodies, I thought I'd better get it out of her reach."
I got up and looked at the knife on the table. Not a hunting knife—the blade was too short, not even a full finger-length. A skinning knife, I thought, but not a common one at all. The metal was worked like the
finest sword, the pattern of its folding visible even in the darkness of the house. Tosten whistled softly. "She took out three mercenaries with that knife?"
"They underestimated her," I said, setting the knife back on the table. Stala said that men tended not to take her seriously because she was a woman, and that gave her an advantage that more than made up for
the difference in size and strength. "Tosten, would you go hold the horses and send Oreg in to look at her
wounds?" I'd done some field surgery, but the smell of flesh-rot told me we'd need more than that here—and Oreg, among other things, was an experienced healer.
Tosten nodded and turned on his heel without comment.
When Oreg appeared in his stead, the atmosphere in the house changed. No one in the house acted like they were afraid of
a battlefield and looting from anyone they could. "I'll see if anyone in Tyrfannig wants the bodies. Otherwise we'll bury them ourselves, eh?"
"Yes, my lord."
I started to turn away, then realized something about the wounds I'd seen on the bodies. "Who took them down?" Atwater was famed for his bow work and could use an ax on people as well as wood, but he'd never have taken on these bandits armed with nothing more than a knife. Yet the two bodies with the most obvious death wounds had been killed by a short blade, not an ax. I didn't know about the third—and wasn't about to examine the bodies more closely with all the children milling about.
"No, sir. My oldest boy, Fennel, saw them coming in time to warn us. I sent Rowan to you, and we waited. After a bit I tracked Fennel's trail to where he'd seen the bandits. And I found them three dead, sir. And I found what killed 'em, too. You'll never guess."
As we'd spoken, Atwater's wife had come out of the house with a little sprite of a girl about six.
"It was a girl," the child caroled in satisfied tones. "A girl killed them bandits all by herself." Atwater's left eyebrow buried itself in his hairline. His wife shrugged.
"My aunt could have killed them," I said. "Why are you so surprised a woman took care of them?" Atwater shook his head. "Maybe Stala could at that. But I'd be surprised if a man in this woman's condition could have walked from where we stand to my home, let alone killed three healthy men with naught but a puny knife. Would you come look at her?"
Bemused, I nodded at Oreg. "Stay out here and keep the babes out from under Pansy's feet, please?" Tosten gave his reins to Oreg, too.
Atwater's house was dark and close, insulated for winter with dried grasses and straw. I had to duck my head to avoid rubbing the ceiling.
The fire in the hearth was more for light than warmth—that would change as winter approached. One of
Atwater's older daughters sat on a nearby bench sewing, a bucket of water by her feet should a spark fly
out and touch either fur or straw. She nodded at me, but turned shyly back to her work. I didn't know how she could sew in the dim light. Even with the fire so near, I could barely tell there was a person buried in the furs in front of the hearth.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html But I could smell the distinctive odor of rotting flesh. I knelt beside the furs and touched the skin on the back of the unconscious woman's neck, feeling the dry heat.
"She hasn't moved since I found her, my lord," said Atwater. "Her weapon's on the table. After seeing the bodies, I thought I'd better get it out of her reach."
I got up and looked at the knife on the table. Not a hunting knife—the blade was too short, not even a full finger-length. A skinning knife, I thought, but not a common one at all. The metal was worked like the
finest sword, the pattern of its folding visible even in the darkness of the house. Tosten whistled softly. "She took out three mercenaries with that knife?"
"They underestimated her," I said, setting the knife back on the table. Stala said that men tended not to take her seriously because she was a woman, and that gave her an advantage that more than made up for
the difference in size and strength. "Tosten, would you go hold the horses and send Oreg in to look at her
wounds?" I'd done some field surgery, but the smell of flesh-rot told me we'd need more than that here—and Oreg, among other things, was an experienced healer.
Tosten nodded and turned on his heel without comment.
When Oreg appeared in his stead, the atmosphere in the house changed. No one in the house acted like they were afraid of
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