Dawn of Swords Read Online Free PDF Page B

and loving god.
    Bareatus—one of the Wardens Ashhur and Celestia had brought over from some different reality—stood off to the side of the dirt road, hand raised in greeting. Just like the rest of the Wardens, he was tall, almost seven feet, and sublimely graceful. Jacob always thought the Wardens looked eerily similar to elves, only with rounded ears and hair like spun silk. Though all were male, their smooth ivory features held certain feminine qualities, which made them seem approachable despite their size. Bareatus glanced at the trailing donkey and the wrapped lump atop it, and his smile of greeting wavered. His hand fell to his side, and he stood still as a stone, his eyes narrowed to mere slits framed by a mane of straight, golden locks.
    “Are Ahaesarus and Judarius about?” asked Jacob.
    Bareatus shook his head, his gaze still trained on Martin’s covered body.
    “They are in Ang, holding court with Bessus and Damaspia.”
    Of course, thought Jacob. The masters of House Gorgoros were always requesting spiritual guidance.
    “And our Lord? Is he here?”
    Bareatus nodded.
    “He is.”
    “Good. I will meet with him at once. Please send word to my fellow mentors that their presence is required back at the Sanctuary.”
    “Very well, Jacob. I will send a crow bearing that message. In regards to our Lord, please be forewarned that Ashhur is spending time with the children. ‘At once’ may not be as quick as you wish.”
    Jacob gestured for the youths to follow him and kicked his mare, leaving Bareatus alone on the road. He heard the massive Warden’s long strides as he loped away, heading for the tents that were just visible at the tip of a distant rise.
    The road rose and fell, rose and fell, and as the sun slowly descended, casting the sky with a deep burgundy pallor, peoplecame into view all around him. There was a group of men in the meadow to his right, dressed in dirty rags and hacking away at the soil, seemingly vacant smiles plastered on their faces. To his left were seven children, running and laughing through a field of short corn, ducking below the stalks and daring others to find them. Beyond the children was a mixed group of men and women, twenty of them at least, on their knees facing the setting sun, their eyes closed and chins held high. Farther ahead, a group of women sat around a small fire. A young mother, no older than fourteen, held a babe in her arms, and she put it to her breast as they passed. One of the other women, much older and more wizened looking, tended the small garden before her. She sprinkled dust onto the carpet of dirt, chanted a few choice words, and from the ground sprouted three buds. The buds grew and grew, and in a matter of moments the three sprouts joined to became a full strawberry bush. The woman plucked a ripe fruit from the vine and fed it to the young mother, whose child continued to suckle at her breast.
    That was life in Safeway: praying, farming, breeding, and playing, all under the watchful eye of Ashhur, their god made flesh.
    “They’re back!” shouted the voice of a young boy. “Jacob and the kinglings!”
    A crowd gathered, running alongside their mounts as they made their way down the uneven road. The people called out to them, cheering for each of the kinglings in turn. Jacob glanced at them, taking in the hope on their faces. Geris waved, and even Ben’s spirits seemed to lift, if only a little. Someone shouted out Martin Harrow’s name, but none of those who gathered let their gaze linger on the sack draped over the rear donkey.
    “Where is he?” asked a woman’s voice. “Where is Kingling Harrow?”
    Jacob peered over his shoulder to see that there was still a smile on the querying woman’s face. She did not understand. None of them did. Around here, with Ashhur, the Wardens, and the healerstending to the wounds and ailments of the populace, unnatural death was unheard of. In western Dezrel, over the span of ninety-three years, no one had