Read The War of the Moonstone: an Epic Fantasy for Free Online

and we were having a chat, about hunting stag I
think, and I was eyeing his flask, and he asked me if I wanted a sip, and I
started to say, No, it’s too early, but then I thought, Well, why not? I’m an
old man and should get my pleasures where I can. Who knows how long I’ll have
left? Not long, I’ll wager,” he added ruefully.
    “And how long was it after this
that you began to feel sick?”
    “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps half an
hour. But why are you so interested? It’s just the failings of an old man’s
body. Trust me, if they were interesting, I would fill a book with them.” He
laughed to himself.
    “Likely nothing. You rest up. And .
. . I’ll see if I can’t get a blanket and some pillows for you.”
    Giorn shivered as soon as he left
the tent, but it was not because of the biting cold wind that took just that moment
to gust up from the dreaded South and flap his cloak about him. It was the
thought of Raugst, the mysterious woodsman, and his equally mysterious flask of
spirits.
    But no, Giorn thought as he made
his way through the camp, beneath the creaking branches of the Tree of Kings,
and finally back to his tent, it wasn’t possible. Whoever had shot Father had
looked like Duke Yfrin, and Raugst was a foot taller and many pounds heavier. It
was simply not feasible.
    Unless . . .
    But no, that was madness. Giorn needed
another drink.

 
 
 

 
 
 
 
    Chapter
3

 
    She came to him in the dark.
    He hadn’t expected it. He had
wanted only a few hours of sleep before the hard decisions of the coming day
and had been dreaming of hunting rabbits at Duke Yfrin’s manor, but when he had
looked up the Duke had been covered in blood, his fingernails pulled, burn
marks on his arms, strips of skin from his cheeks missing, and all the while he
was saying, I tell you, I did not do it!
    When Giorn felt her touch him, he lurched
up gasping. One hand shot for his hunting knife.
    She laid a bare hand on his sweaty
chest. Instantly he calmed. In her other hand she carried a candle, and by its
frail, flickering light he stared into her blue eyes.
    “Niara,” he breathed.
    “Giorn.” Her voice was a whisper.
    Her lips were full and wide,
slightly parted. He acted instinctively. He drew her to him, pressed her body against
his, and met her lips with his. She melted against him, and for an endless
moment, he lost himself in her. She was warm and soft and wonderful. Then
reality returned to him, cold and sharp, and he broke away.
    “No,” he choked.
    “Why?”
    “Father’s in the next tent. You
must go to him. He comes first. Only
then is there time for . . . us.”
    She tilted his face so that he was
forced to look at her, and she smiled gently. She looked like an angel when she
smiled.
    “I already have,” she said.
    He cleared his throat, suddenly
nervous. “And?”
    Her smile dimmed, but the light in
her eyes still shone. For the first time he realized she looked tired. She must
have ridden all through the night, all the way from Thiersgald. Bless her eyes!
A normal person could not have done it, could not have navigated at speed
through a dark forest, much less make her mount obey her. But she could. Even
for her, however, it could not have been easy. It must have drained her. And
then, so soon after that ordeal, to administer to Father . . . It must have
been painful, like tapping a dry well. He felt renewed love for her, and respect.
    “I sang to him and poured into him
all the Grace I could,” she said. “But while I was bonded with him, I felt
something.”
    “Yes?’
    “A taint.” Her voice was grim. “That
arrow was poisoned.”
“Masan detected
nothing.”
    “It was no natural poison. It was a
toxin of Oslog, perhaps venom from some fell thing, I don’t know. But it was
there, and it countered me. I could not drive it out, or destroy it. I’ll try
again tomorrow, when I’ve had time to recover, but I . . .” She lowered her
gaze. “I don’t have much hope.”
    Now it