Bridge of Souls Read Online Free PDF Page A

help!” he called.
    The horse clearly wanted Myrt nowhere near him, rearing and screaming even more wildly as the warrior approached. To Myrt’s surprise, however, the stallion calmed a little at the sound of the big mercenary’s voice and allowed Aremys to sidle up to him.
    Aremys reached for the reins and called again to the horse. “Galapek, there, boy. There, now. Settle, big fellow,” he whispered. The horse stilled now, trembling and frightened.
    “Poor Galapek, whatever has happened to you, I shall rescue you, I promise,” Aremys said, stroking the animal’s broad, magnificent face. “Be calm now, boy.” He rubbed the stallion’s neck, and for the first time, the stench of the magic did not turn his stomach. Whatever this curse upon the stallion was, it was somehow communicating with him, flowing through him and around him, begging him to keep his promise.
    And then a word came into in his head. It was faint and desperately called but he sensed it clearly. Elspyth, he heard, just once, and then it was gone, like a sigh given to the wind and borne away.
    Aremys was so shocked he stood rigid against the horse’s neck, trying without success to recapture the word. Elspyth. Surely that was the name he had heard? Myrt’s urgent voice broke through his haze of confusion.
    “Farrow! For Haldor’s sake, man!”
    Aremys turned, surprised by the anger in the man’s voice. Then he saw Myrt’s expression—not angry, but distraught—and followed his friend’s pointing finger. By the water’s edge, where he had left him, Rashlyn writhed on the ground, shouting gibberish as spittle foamed and flew from his mouth. His arms and legs flailed wildly, then, suddenly, fell completely still.
    “Check that the horses are secure,” Aremys called over his shoulder as he ran to the prone figure. He hoped Rashlyn might be dead, but luck was not with him. He lifted the small man’s chin to ensure a clear breathing passage, but stopped short of breathing any life-giving air into the barshi’s mouth. “He has a pulse, I’m sorry to say,” he risked to Myrt, who had come up behind them.
    Myrt did not smile but something akin to a twitch of amusement flitted across his face. “What’s happened?” the Mountain man queried.
    “Is he prone to fits?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve not heard of any occurring before.”
    “Could it be the cheese?” Aremys asked.
    “No, it’s fresh. Nothing wrong with it.”
    “Something else, then. It seemed to occur at the same time as Galapek took fright.”
    “What are you saying?” Myrt squatted, saw the indecision in his companion’s face. “Speak freely—I have protected you before.”
    Rashlyn lay rigidly still at their feet. Aremys lifted back the man’s lids. The dark, madness-filled eyes had rolled back into his head. The man was unconscious; he could hear nothing.
    “I’m not sure I should air my views. You’re a loyal Mountain warrior, after all.”
    “Not to him!” Myrt spat disdainfully on the ground. “Like you, I wish he was dead. He’s a danger to all of us.”
    “Because of his magic?”
    Myrt nodded reluctantly. “He uses it for evil, I’m sure of it.”
    “I think it’s his magic that has prompted this episode.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “I don’t either, entirely.” Aremys sighed and decided to take a chance on Myrt. He hoped his instincts would serve himtruly. “Were you given any instructions about me and this afternoon’s ride?”
    Myrt frowned. “Nothing special. I was briefed to give you a chance to enjoy Galapek because you had expressed such interest in the horse.”
    “The King didn’t tell you to keep a special eye on me?”
    “My job is to keep an eye on you, Farrow. You’re our…”—he hesitated—“our guest, after all.”
    Aremys grinned ruefully. “Myrt, you are more friend to me than most people I have met over the past decade. But let’s be honest here: I’m a prisoner. I have to accept that. However,” he went