Read Broken Forest: Book One of the Daath Chronicles for Free Online

Jimri died.
    “You’re wasting your time,” I said.
    Derrick shut his eyes. “We need a miracle.”
    “The Creator doesn’t care about us,” I grumbled.
    Derrick ignored me, and I thought on how to dispose of the bodies.
    After a very long debate, we came to a decision. We dragged the two dead men from camp and hid them beneath the brush. Then we scurried around the area, gathering twigs and branches to cover the rest of the remains. Afterwards, I wiped our footprints and removed any signs of our passing.
    We rode in silence. The sky stayed dry, and we continued following the tracks. Luck smiled on us. The hooves of the horses had a distinct shape, different from most I’ve seen. They were easy to follow.
    We arrived at the town marker around noon. An old sign read Bogtown. We were in Lord Belfur’s territory. Out of the twelve territories in Tarrtainya, only three were considered unsafe. This was one of them.
    I still had a dull ache in my head. I needed to unwind or I’d get sick, again.
    “First one to Bogtown is in charge of dinner,” I said. “Deal?”
    Derrick grinned. “Deal.”
    He kicked his horse into a running start.
    “You’re supposed to wait and count to three!”
    Derrick grinned and sped down the road.
    “Hee-ya!” I slapped the reins and galloped after him. The wind on my face energized me. My family bred racehorses, fierce and dangerously quick. Brushfire wasn’t from that stock, but she could run just as fast.
    “Show them what you can do, girl.”
    She galloped around the curve of the road, catching up to them. I urged her to pass Derrick. He glanced my way, and I winked. I slapped the reins again, pushing Brushfire into the town.
    “Whoa.” I pulled back on the reins as we entered, Brushfire slowed, and I waited for Derrick before going any further.
    Dirt covered the town in a beige blanket. Most of the housing resembled wooden shacks. Haggard citizens dressed in rags passed by us, never making eye contact. The desolate atmosphere reminded me that we needed to watch ourselves.
    The local tavern was the only building teeming with activity. “I’ll go inside and see if I can find anything out about the wagons we’re following. Tie up the horses, then meet me inside.” I dismounted and patted Brushfire before leaving her with Derrick.
    I’d only been in a tavern once, and I doubted the one in our small village was anything like this. I slid my hand into my pocket, searching for the pouch of marbles I always kept in there. I found it and grabbed one of the smooth stones, rolling it back and forth in my palm.
I am the son of Garn Desdar, a warrior,
I thought,
just like his father before him.
I breathed in, stood straighter, and walked inside.
    The second I entered through the swinging doors, I knew I didn’t belong. The stench of sweat and smoke assaulted my nose. Old wooden tables haphazardly filled the room, surrounded by empty steins and loud scoundrels. An old chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, arrayed with melted candles. With my chin held high, I walked across the sticky floor to the long bar.
    I sat on a stool. A busty woman in an unfitting dress stood across from me, filling a mug with golden liquid. “What’ll it be, hun?”
    “A cup of ale.” I left a coin on the bar.
    She returned with a glass of milk and pushed the coin back to me.
    I frowned. “I believe I asked for ale.”
    The barmaid smiled and leaned over. “And I believe you to be a bit too young to be drinking any ale.”
    “I’m nearly eighteen!”
    She pursed her lips. “That may be true, but you won’t be getting any ale from me. You can drink your milk and stay, or leave. It don’t make a difference to me.” She left to help another customer.
    I sighed and grabbed the mug.
    In the back of the tavern, two men argued, one stout, the other about half his age and weight.
    “It’s your fault,” said the stout man. “I tell you, your fault. I know you’re up to no good.
    “I didn’t do