Book 3 - The White Rose Read Online Free PDF Page A

black circle around one eye
and a few daubs of black on its flanks. It limped, carrying one
forepaw off the ground. The fire caught its eyes. They burned
bright red.
    The man was over six feet, maybe thirty. He moved lithely even
in his weariness. He had muscles on muscles. His tattered shirt
revealed arms and chest crisscrossed with scars. His face was empty
of emotion. He met my gaze as he approached the fire, neither
smiling nor betraying unfriendly intent.
    Chill touched me, lightly. He looked tough, but not tough enough
to negotiate the Plain of Fear alone.
    First order of business would be to stall. Otto was due out to
relieve me soon. The fire would alert him. He would see the
stranger, then duck down and rouse the Hole. “Hello,” I
said.
    He halted, exchanged glances with his mongrel. The dog came
forward slowly, sniffing the air, searching the surrounding night.
It stopped a few feet away, shook as though wet, settled on its
belly.
    The stranger came forward just that far. “Take a load
off,” I invited.
    He swung his saddle down, lowered his case, sat. He was stiff.
He had trouble crossing his legs. “Lose your
horse?”
    He nodded. “Broke a leg. West of here, five, six miles. I
lost the trail.”
    There are trails through the Plain. Some of them the Plain
honors as safe. Sometimes. According to a formula known only to its
denizens. Only someone desperate or stupid hazards them alone,
though. This fellow did not look like an idiot.
    The dog made a whuffling sound. The man scratched its ears.
    “Where you headed?”
    “Place called the
Fastness.”
    That is the legend-name, the propaganda name, for the Hole. A
calculated bit of glamor for the troops in faraway places.
“Name?”
    “Tracker. This is Toadkiller Dog.”
    “Pleased to
meet you, Tracker. Toadkiller.”
    The dog grumbled. Tracker
said, “You have to use his whole name. Toadkiller
Dog.”
    I kept a straight face only because he was such a big, grim,
tough-looking man. “What’s this Fastness?” I
asked. “I never heard of it.”
    He lifted hard, dark eyes from the mutt, smiled.
“I’ve heard it lies near Tokens.”
    Twice in one day? Was it the day of twos? No. Not bloody likely.
I did not like the look of the man, either. Reminded me too much of
our one-time brother Raven. Ice and iron. I donned my baffled face.
It is a good one. “Tokens? That’s a new one on me. Must
be somewhere way the hell out east. What are you headed there for,
anyway?”
    He smiled again. His dog opened one eye, gave me a baleful look.
They did not believe me.
    “Carrying messages.”
    “I see.”
    “Mainly a packet. Addressed to somebody named
Croaker.”
    I sucked spittle between teeth, slowly scanned the surrounding
darkness. The circle of light had shrunk, but the number of menhirs
remained undiminished. I wondered about One-Eye and Goblin.
“Now there’s a name I’ve heard,” I said.
“Some kind of sawbones.” Again the dog gave me that
look. This time, I decided, it was sarcastic.
    One-Eye stepped out of the darkness behind Tracker, sword ready
to do the dirty deed. Damn, but he came quiet. Witchery or no.
    I gave him away with a flicker of surprise. Tracker and his dog
looked back. Both were startled to see someone there. The dog rose.
Its hackles lifted. Then it sank to the ground again, having
twisted till it could keep us both in sight.
    But then Goblin appeared, just as quietly. I smiled. Tracker
glanced over. His eyes narrowed. He looked thoughtful, like a man
discovering he was in a card game with rogues sharper than he had
expected. Goblin chuckled. “He wants in, Croaker. I say we
take him down.”
    Tracker’s hand twitched toward the case he had carried.
His animal growled. Tracker closed his eyes. When they opened, he
was in control. His smile returned. “Croaker, eh? Then
I’ve found the Fastness.”
    “You’ve found it, friend.”
    Slowly, so as not to alarm anyone, Tracker took an oilskin
packet from his saddlebag. It was the