Children of the Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

fingers touched. Each boy tried to draw strength from the contact, but neither really knew how.
    They were fed some hours later, then dragged to their feet and across to where two large tents had been set up. A few more of the servants disappeared at the feeding; the old and the injured. Darin wanted to know where they were going, but he couldn’t ask. He didn’t want to do anything to attract attention.
    Later he might realize just how lucky he had been. All of the priests and initiates of Line Culverne, along with their children, lay dead by fire or sword. Not one had escaped. All of the servers of the line knew who he was, and the older and wiser knew that his survival was by chance and not by any darker purpose—but none of these people came forward or tried to bargain with this information.
    Now, though, he could only see his loss. Any time he looked to the east, he could see the blackened remains of buildings. He wondered how his father and mother had died. Did they have any warning? Did they have the time to arm themselves or draw upon God’s power?
    Had they thought about him at all?
    He thought of them often in the next few days. But he didn’t cry.
     
    Vellen looked out upon the gathered array of slaves. They were women and children for the most part, with a few men who’d been caught unawares. Dirt stained their faces and hands, where visible, but the rains had kept their smell from becoming too odious.
    This part of a battle he sometimes enjoyed, but today it felt empty. The trampled green of open hill annoyed him, unblessed as it was by the blood of those who had dared to stand against his God. Worse was the absence of any who had been his true enemy. Although he had ordered many of their corpses brought
up to line the city walls, it was, for his personal sense of victory, a hollow gesture.
    Still, they had won. The cursed walls of Dagothrin had finally been opened to allow his chosen their entrance. And what better trophy of victory than these? Alive, and soon to be branded, they would adorn his house and remind all those within of the absolute will of the Dark Heart. The pathetic beating of the Bright One had finally been stilled; no more would he suffer the call of weakness from afar.
    “This one.” The high priest had chosen to wear his informal garb; black, red-bordered robes with a hint of metallic copper embroidered through them in a pattern of a broken circle, drawn tight by a long red sash. They were new; he had ordered them made in anticipation of his victory.
    The Swords moved forward and yanked a young woman to her feet. She glared balefully up at them, but said nothing as they led her off to one of the tents.
    Vellen continued to look at the gathered crowd. It had grown in number with the fall and surrender of Dagothrin, but not nearly as much as he would have liked. Still, the duke had busied himself, retaining the governorship of the newly won province and accommodating the Church until a formal structure could be built.
    Ah. “That man; the larger one.”
    The Swords nodded and went forward again, approaching the man with only the slightest evidence of caution. Nor had they much to fear. He went with them, showing more docility than the girl had. Those that had caused too much trouble in the beginning had been killed out of hand, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly—but always in plain sight.
    Darin watched as the high priest walked along the perimeter of the gathered slaves. He shrunk in on himself, trying desperately to look smaller than he already was.
    “Her. The pregnant one. Bring her here.”
    Darin followed the Swords’ path through the crowd, and saw the foremost among them grab a young woman by her wrist manacles and drag her to her feet. Peggy. From where he stood, he could see that she’d been crying. He wondered if she had stopped at all in the last four days.
    They brought her to the feet of the high priest and then forced her back to her knees.
    “You. How many