Read The Sons of Hull for Free Online Page B

place! If he had been wiser, he would have realized that no amount of hunger or need was great enough to justify what now awaited him.
    Corfe had thought himself unassailable, secure in his reign of petty thievery and misdemeanors. There were even a few timely murders to which he could point in pride. So when this dark, hollow man approached him with what had seemed like a small chore—the duping of a Patronius—he had jumped at the opportunity to extend his talents.
    The acting job was an odd one. If the man had come to ask his services for playing the part of a drunk, a thief, or a corrupt bureaucrat, the task would have been easy. Instead his new employer required something quite contrary to his personality: an innocent, or close to it. The role was simply a young man around nineteen who was intelligent (Corfe had that down), generous (he could work on it) and a pious slave of Kynell (a true test of his acting abilities). All of this was a cycle ago, and the months following the agreement had been filled with intensive study of Rhyveladian history and Kynellian Lore. He had brushed up on his manners, abstained from his day-to-day business, and practiced an innocent sparkle. The man had supervised him thoroughly: every grace had to be polished, every show of compassion made genuine. For a cycle, Corfe had abandoned his natural inclinations and donned the robe of purity and righteousness. Toward the end, even his own comrades were fooled. Poor old Bokran had gone so far as to ask if the boy was intending to join the Patroniite Fraternity. The plans of the dark man were succeeding and as the cool season of hiverra neared, there was only one person left to convince.
    PatroniusTelenar’s small court was held three fortnights every cycle; two in the later breach season and one as the warm season of autore approached. The rest of the time the Patronius spent searching the land of Keroul and beyond, combing every city, every hamlet, every house for his prize. And each cycle he had discovered nothing. After broadcasting his search far and wide, he always returned to Lascombe to find hundreds of would-be Advocates, as he called them. None of them had convinced the priest, though Corfe had no doubt that his performance would be a success. Why? Because his mentor was flawless and exuded an awesome authority none could resist. Such a figure could only choose his students correctly; he would triumph over any force, let alone some Keroulian priest.
    The young actor had consequently marched confidently into the small chamber. There, under a dusty window, sat the subject of many gossiping tongues: the famous, enigmatic Telenar pa Saauli. Corfe was not impressed. Where he had expected a towering force of a man, he encountered a short, stout scholar. And where he had anticipated a fierce expression and piercing eyes, he encountered quite normal features and eyes that were serious enough, but partially obscured behind small, wire-framed spectacles. Restless hands constantly found their way to a trimmed beard, a nervous habit formed from many cycles of anxious pondering. The billowy robes of the Patroniite Fraternity fit him well, however, and gave him some semblance of authority. Ultimately, only one characteristic of the man Corfe had expected proved correct—a face well-formed for laughter held no trace of cheer. Telenar was tired and discouraged. More than fifteen cycles he had been searching and it was rumored that time was running out.
    A Patronius en preporatorium announced the young man’s presence.
    “A candidate, Patronius.”
    Telenar rose and dismissed the acolyte with a nod. The youth shuffled past Corfe without a word, closing the door on judge and defendant.
    “Sit down, please, young candidate,” was the judge’s gracious welcome.
    Corfe obeyed silently, having been ordered not to speak unless a direct answer was requested.
    “You are the first candidate in a while,” Telenar continued as he resumed his chair. “I