Duty Calls: The Reluctant War God Book 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

the king’s highway, a paved and tended thoroughfare vital to commerce.
    I encountered more and more people along the way. A few single pilgrims at first, then some families, then what appeared to be be entire villages of people until finally I found myself part of the throng of refugees which clogged the highway to Tarnon, the capitol city.
    I had seen such panic many times before. The smell of fear was everywhere. Ox carts were loaded high with every belonging. Mothers clutched babies to their breasts and wept. Small children were put into service carrying packs or herding goats or geese. Men loaded themselves down as much as they could with sacks and packs and pulled the reluctant oxen forward using nose rings toward what all hoped was safety.
    As I approached the outskirts of the Tarnon, I dismounted and took the saddlebags containing my few belongings from Blackflame’s back. With an unspoken command, I sent him off back towards the woods where he vanished. The animal would return to his primal plane, shared with the eternal, elemental forces, until called again. I knew what was coming, and wanted to simplify things. I watched as the small donkey exited the road and made off toward the trees. One man broke off toward him in a run, thinking Blackflame had escaped from his owner. I laughed as I saw Blackflame look over his shoulder and shoot the man a glance with red flamed eyes. The man stopped in his tracks and allowed Blackflame to continue toward the woods unmolested. Yeah, Blackflame could always take care of himself.
    A checkpoint loomed ahead. Soldiers were stopping the refugees before they could enter the city. They were separating out the men and boys.
    This always meant one of two things. If the soldiers had been those of an occupying army, then it would mean genocide, but since the defending army was still in control, it meant conscription. Both usually meant death.
    Farmers with no training at war made poor soldiers, even when defending their country. A large contingent of levied peasants meant an easy rout when the blood began to spill, ofttimes their panic would infect the trained soldiers as well. Desperation did not use logic.
    On the other hand, they could work the farmers nearly to death on digging trenches, building fortifications and moving supplies. You can’t beat patriotic slave labor.
    Wives and daughters screamed as their men were taken from them. Dazed and terrified, the peasants were herded together like sheep.
    My turn came soon.
    “Stop there. Who are you and what’s your business?” A gruff old bear of a sergeant shouted while jerking my cloak backwards. He was scarred and had obviously seen his share of action. I read his essence. Not a bad man necessarily, just a survivor making the best of his situation. I would have put him where he could do some good instead of dealing with civilians.
    “I’m Carl. I play the lyre and tell stories. I am trying to escape to the capitol where I might be able to entertain the king during this time of trouble.”
    The sergeant laughed. “Oh, you can be of service to the king, right enough. What have you got in that there bag?”
“Just my lyre and a few personal items—a bit of food and a fresh tunic.”
    “Lemme see.” He roughly took the sack and started digging in it. He grabbed my small coin purse and stuffed it into his belt, then he took my cheese, then he took out my lyre and threw my bags to the ground.
    ‘Well, lookie here. Ain’t this pretty?” He began to pluck the strings harshly, pulling them out of tune.
    I began to get stupid. “Hey, Be careful with that.” I snatched it back.
    “Whoa now,” the sergeant said and drew a large cudgel. “I think we might just have ourselves a Jegu spy.”
    I shook my head. I knew better, but I never was good at humble. I tried, but sometimes I just couldn’t bite my tongue. “No, I’m just a musician. See?” I began to play and sing, and the sergeant smiled as he walked toward me. I knew