Crimson Fire Read Online Free PDF Page B

force. And it has been the fi ght itself that has become the doorway for you. Now choose the next rune, the rune for the present.”
    Once again, he plunged his hand into the bowl, pulled out a piece of wood, and laid it on the table. She leaned forward, studying the rune. “This is needan . It is the rune for constraint, for necessity, for what must be. There has been sorrow for you, but it has been needful to make you what you must be. Choose now, the rune for the future. This will tell us if needan has de- stroyed your dream. Or only delayed it.”
    Taking a deep breath, Havgan did as he was told, and laid the last rune on the table. The valla was silent; the only sound was Havgan’s harsh, uneven breathing. Finally, she looked up. “This last rune is eho . It is the rune of change, of progress. Soon there will be a new home for you, a new life.” She hesitated, then went on. “You shall have your dream, kitchen boy. You shall be a warrior.”
    As Havgan leapt to his feet, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down. “Listen, boy. Listen to me,” she hissed. “You will be a warrior, as you wish. Someday you will be more than that. But I give you a word of warning. Stay away from the sea. Never, never leave this land. If you cross the sea, you will fi nd such sorrow as you have never known. Such sorrow as no one should ever know.”
    Havgan looked at her uncomprehendingly. What was she
    talking about? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter now. He would be a warrior! His wish would come true. That was all that mattered.
    She clung to his wrist for another moment, then slowly released him. From behind her veil he thought he saw a crooked smile. “No, you won’t heed me, will you? They never do.” She fl apped her arm in a shooing motion. “Go,” she said harshly. “Go.”
    He turned and ran from the tent. In a daze of happiness he wandered around the fair. He soon found himself weav- ing through the laughing, singing, and dancing crowd. But he wasn’t really seeing anything. He was thinking only that he would become a warrior. His dream would come true. And he felt that he couldn’t contain his building joy—sure that it would burst out of him in a wild leap, a thing of light, not like the dark thing he always kept inside.
    Then he heard it. Later he would say, both to himself and to others, that the man had been talking out loud. But that was a lie. The man had been thinking. And Havgan had heard his thoughts . I’ll kill his boy. That will teach him. I’ll kill his only son .
    Havgan looked wildly around. A farmer, plainly dressed, leaned against the boards that fenced in the cattle for sale. The man had a thin, scraggly brown beard, and long greasy hair. His face was scarred with the harshness of scratching a liv- ing from reluctant soil. His back was bent as if still under the weight of the plow. And his eyes were focused on the fi gures of a man and a boy, stopped in front of the armourer’s stall. Kill his boy. Like he killed mine . The man’s thoughts swarmed out like angry bees, buzzing and stinging in Havgan’s head. And then Havgan recognized the two fi gures at the stall with their backs to the farmer. It was the Alder and his son, Sigerric.
    As Sigerric and his father turned from the stall, the farmer drew his hunting knife in a swift motion, and cocked his hand back to throw. But as fast as the farmer was, Havgan was faster. He leapt at the farmer, crashing into him and spoiling his aim just as the knife was leaving his hand. A woman screamed as the knife arced through the air and plunged into the ground, coming to rest just between Sigerric’s feet.
    Havgan wrestled with the farmer, pinning him until the Alder’s warriors came rushing up and hauled them both to their feet. And then the Alder was there in a towering rage. Havgan glanced at Sigerric, who had been standing pale and silent by his father’s side. He saw that Sigerric was looking back at him with his fi ne, dark eyes. But he