Read Michelle West - The Sun Sword 02 - The Uncrowned King for Free Online Page B

things—horses, mounted riders—are foreign to your way of living. I… see the horses. I do not see the riders."
    The old man didn't sound at all pleased about it either, which is to say that he suddenly ceased to speak Weston at all. Had a lot to say in the Southern tongue, though. Aidan promised himself that he would learn to speak that language. He tried to listen to the sounds the old man's words were made of, clinging to them as if he could hold them in memory for long enough to eventually unlock their meaning. But the only words he could sift out of that fluid stream of oddly musical sounds were "tor" and "leonne"; they were said sometimes together and sometimes apart.
    The tone of the old man's voice as he spoke was all alley shadow. Aidan wouldn't have dared to interrupt him had his life depended on it. He was certain that if it had, he would be dead.
    They joined the line; the horses brought a combination of the magisterial guards and the Crown guards. Before either of these groups of officials could speak, the old man handed them a set of curled papers. The magisterians read them over so carefully you could almost hear their eyes scraping paper. But the royal guards hardly glanced at them at all; it was as if they'd expected to see over a dozen huge horses in the trial lineups.
    "Commander Sivari," one of the King's men said. Aidan froze. He recognized the name. Sivari. It wasn't all that common.
    The old man said, quietly, "It is time for me to dismount, boy." He offered Aidan a hand down; Commander Sivari met him halfway. The Northern officer looked at Aidan's white hair and soon to be blistering pale skin, and raised a dark brow. He did not speak, however.
    "Commander Sivari," the old man said. He bowed, the gesture so unexpected to Aidan that the boy froze in surprise. "I expected to be met, but not by a man who has worn the Challenge Crown. I am honored."
    Aidan's jaw dropped. This man—this man was Effarin Sivari. Kings' Champion. It had been a long time since he had earned the right to that title, but as he was one of the few champions who had been born and bred in the Empire's heart, and not its Northern remove, Aidan knew his name, and even some of his history.
    He was speechless. A god could have tapped him on the shoulder and it wouldn't have surprised him more. He was beyond surprise.
    Or so he thought.
    But Commander Sivari returned the bow; if possible, it was lower, more formal. "Who else would they send," he said as he rose, an expression that Aidan didn't understand on his face. "Who else would properly honor the only man living who has worn that crown twice?"
    Why didn't he tell me
? Aidan was still speechless. He was also mortified. He had spent the last two days with a man who practically defined the word champion. He had even—oh, the humiliation was boundless—told him the stories about
himself
, stories he probably sounded completely stupid, at best, repeating.
    No Southerner knew so much about the Northern Challenge; they almost never sent their best North. The fact that he'd shown the interest, and knew so many of the answers—that should have been a dead giveaway. Dammit, he should have
known
who that old man was.
    He wondered if the old man had enjoyed laughing at him.
    "You are… quiet, boy."
    Aidan said nothing.
    The old man returned his silence with a silence that was shorter and less awkward. "I would have told you," he said at last, "but by the time it became relevant, it would have been awkward. You have a vision and a simplicity that no one involved in the Challenge with me will have. Not this Challenge. I found it refreshing. I am not a political man." He laughed. "And yet, life
is
politics; the politics of the sword, the politics of power, or position. I wished a reprieve, and you were that reprieve.
    "Forgive my duplicity." He bowed.
    Aidan was stunned. "But aren't you—but didn't you think I was stupid for not
recognizing
you? I should have," he added, speaking because