A Cast of Stones Read Online Free PDF

of a dog, his fingers registering the fur painstakingly carved into the stone. He touched the nose, noting, almost in surprise, that it was neither wet nor cold. Replacing that figure he brought forth a bear that stood on its hind legs, its head tilted to one side, and its mouth open in a roar. He could almost hear the creature’s deep-throated defiance.
    A touch on his arm startled him, and he turned to find Martin there.
    â€œDo you like them?”
    He nodded, returned the carving to its place on the shelf. “They make everything else I’ve ever seen look clumsy. Who carved them?”
    Martin gestured loosely toward Luis. “Your cook for the evening. He’s not nearly as good with food as he is with stone, but we won’t go hungry.”
    That earned a snort from his servant. “Humph, just because I don’t drown everything in pepper the way you do.”
    The two men proceeded to argue over food. Errol closed the cupboard door. Beneath it was a large drawer, two hands high with heavy iron pulls. He leaned down and, straining, pulled it open a few inches.
    The knife in Luis’s hand stilled, and a small noise of protest escaped his throat. Martin’s hand on his servant’s arm kept him from speaking, but a flash of concern bordering on fear blazed in both men’s eyes. Curious about what could spark such a response, Errol pulled the drawer open the rest of the way. It squeaked as the wooden runners protested at the revelation of its contents.
    Martin appeared at his side. “You’ve discovered Luis’s greatest work.”
    Errol stood, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. What work of Luis’s could be so precious that he wouldobject to Errol just looking at it? Martin stood with a half smile and a look of encouragement for Luis written large across his broad features. Errol knew that look. He had seen fathers in the village bestow that look upon sons who had just accomplished something difficult and important.
    Errol hadn’t received such a look since Warrel died. Unwilling to touch the memories that lay behind that train of thought, he leaned forward to gaze into the drawer that Martin and Luis regarded as if it held rare jewels. At first, he suspected the two men of making sport of him, but when he glanced their way he found them as before—Martin with a look of pride and a frown of concern pinching Luis’s features.
    The drawer lay open at his feet. Squatting, he examined the contents, tried to understand. Dozens of gleaming white spheres lay nestled on a thick blanket of blackest wool. Every orb reflected the muted light within the cabin, creating the illusion they glowed from within.
    And they were all identical. Try as he might, Errol could find no difference between them. Each sphere, half a handsbreadth across, was bereft of feature, color, or imperfection. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. The effect of those identical objects reminded him of the times he’d suffered from split vision after a night of too much ale. Curious now, he reached to take one of the spheres in hand. He could almost feel the smooth roundness against his fingertips, cool against his skin.
    â€œDon’t touch!” The command, louder after the prolonged silence in the cabin, startled him, and he jerked his hand back from the drawer as if burned.
    Martin squeezed Errol’s shoulder with a chuckle. “You’ll have to forgive Luis. He’s probably afraid you’ll break one.”
    Luis shook his head in denial. “Such dissembling ill becomes you, old friend.” Turning to Errol, he continued. “The lots are carved from durastone. They’re nearly indestructible. You probably couldn’t break one if you tried, but the dirt on your hand would mar the stone’s balance.”
    Errol checked his hands. The palms bore telltale nicks and scratches, but the winter runoff from the Sprata had scrubbed them clean. Not a speck