Bridge of Souls Read Online Free PDF

on, scratching his head, “your king is entrusting me with a very serious task, which means he has faith in me. Sadly, I can’t be quite as honest with him as I can with you.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I suspect he is in the thrall of this man. You’ve told me as much yourself, and spending just an afternoon with Rashlyn has convinced me he’s not someone to trust.”
    Myrt said nothing, merely frowned again.
    Aremys pushed on. He glanced toward the horse. “I could be aiming completely off target here, but I think there’s something very odd about Galapek. No, not odd. Enchanted.”
    Myrt rocked back on his heels as if slapped. “Magic?”
    Aremys nodded. “Worked by Rashlyn, I’m guessing. And known of by your king.” There, it was said.
    Myrt stood and began pacing. He said nothing for a while and Aremys kept the silence, watching Rashlyn for any signs of consciousness.
    “I don’t believe this,” the warrior hissed eventually, pointing at Aremys.
    “You don’t have to,” the mercenary replied calmly, having anticipated the anger. “I’m just offering my own thoughts. I’m not suggesting that your king—whom I like and respect—is in complete agreement with Rashlyn.”
    “Then what do you mean, mercenary?” Myrt asked brusquely.
    Aremys was sorry that he had pushed his friend so far. Itwas obvious from his anger that Myrt had suspected something not so far from what Aremys had suggested. But the blood of the Mountain People ran thick with loyalty. Wyl had warned him as much and he should not have presumed that friendship might override that loyalty—although, of course, it had in the case of the man Lothryn, who had chosen love and friendship over his monarch.
    “I’m sorry if I’ve given insult, Myrt. It was not intended, especially not to you. I meant that I think Cailech—under the spell of Rashlyn, as you have pointed out—has permitted something unnatural to be wrought upon this horse.”
    “And how for the love of Haldor’s arse would you know, Grenadyne? Are you a practitioner yourself, now, who knows when magic is being wielded?”
    The harsh words bit at Aremys, as intended, but he could not ignore the truth. Could he risk divulging it to Myrt?
    “Myrt, do you trust me?”
    The man passed a weary hand over his eyes. “I’m not sure.”
    “What does your gut tell you?”
    “That you are reliable.”
    “Good. That is enough for me. Now, we have to get Rashlyn back to the fortress. Help me lay him across his horse and I will tell you everything I know as we travel.”
     
     
     
    T hey took the same route home, although more slowly. Aremys had tethered Rashlyn’s horse on a lead some distance behind them, so if the healer regained consciousness he would not be able to hear their conversation and would have to alert them by calling out. “An old mercenary trick,” Aremys had said, winking.
    On the return journey, Aremys began to share with his friend all the information he was prepared to risk bringing into the open. He cast a silent prayer to Shar that he had this man’s measure, that he could trust him not to betray him. He said nothing of Wyl, of course, simply explaining that he had beenin the employ of the Morgravian sovereign. Myrt accepted that the mercenary would not explain what specific task he was employed to do for Celimus, merely nodding when Aremys assured him that it was nothing connected with the people of the Razors.
    “Let me simply say that I was tracking someone of interest to the Crown,” Aremys offered.
    “And that’s what brought you so far north?”
    “Yes. I’ve remembered that I came to a place called Timpkenny in the far north east of Briavel,” the mercenary lied. “I believed the person I was following had passed through there.”
    “And these people who set upon you—just common bandits, you think?”
    “Mmm.” Aremys nodded. “Added a little something to my ale to make me feel sick so I would stagger outside the inn late at night.