From the Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page B

had held his baton with a practiced hand, so Naresh hadn’t  dared argue. Besides – the Great Hall! He’d always longed to see inside, to see where the King himself held party with the Lords of the Land. Now was his chance. Finally, he could talk to his family about life in the Halls without that burning flush of guilt that he was sure his brothers and sisters saw straight through, regardless of how proudly his parents cooed.
                  He had lined up with the other waiters, streaming in a slow and steady procession by the Pass where they were given platters to carry, full of steaming, succulent meats and exotic fruits. Nearly at the pass now, his mouth salivating at the savoury aromas that hung low and teasing in the air, Naresh couldn’t help but wonder who was dining tonight. He’d asked the waiter in front, a small and nervous looking lad, blond, probably from the North. The Lord of Alathar, had been the hushed reply, and shush – you do not speak whilst serving unless spoken to first.
                  Alathar, Naresh had thought as he shuffled forwards in the queue; a far-away land of fields and crops, so different to the harsh and unforgiving Steppes of his birth. Daydreams of another life had been cut abruptly short as he was handed a great steaming platter of suckling pig, ringed in by a barricade of roasted vegetables.
                  He had almost gone cross-eyed with hunger and jealousy at the feast he was forced to carry but not to eat, thinking back to his own stockpiles that had so often gone missing of late. Rats, his fellow servants had continued to tell him. Rats. Yet sometimes the stone had been rolled back… Oh, the disparity, the unfairness; if only it were he feasting in the Hall tonight, he had wished, and one of the Lord’s lieutenants here, forced to cart this tormenting burden in his stead.
                  In two short minutes, he would be thankful that such was not the case.
                  At a shouted order, the line of servers had left the kitchen, working their way up a flight of steps to the Great Hall itself. The scale, the grandeur had taken Naresh’s breath away, leaving him to stand and stare, gormless, until the urgent proddings of the next in line had forced him onwards. The party in the middle of the Hall looked small, wasteful even, in comparison to their surroundings; a table of no more than thirty, the Lord himself, his lieutenants and their highest ranking officers, in a hall built to accommodate a feast of thousands.
                  Winding their way through the myriad wooden tables, the servers had been greeted with cheers by the hungry party. The Lord of Alathar himself had spied the suckling pig on Naresh’s shoulder, clicking his fingers with a gleam of hunger in his eye, beckoning the youth over. Naresh had laid the platter in front of the Lord and his lieutenants, standing, watching them carve into it with a gnawing in his belly when he’d noticed the silence.
                  He’d blinked out of his reverie, noticed that the gathered nobles were staring at him, bemused smiles on their faces. What’s the matter, boy, the Lord had enquired. You joining us? Naresh had gone to open his mouth, when the flat of the Lord’s hand had caught him across the back of the head, to the laughter of those at the table. Get out of here, serf!
                  That would be the last thing the Lord of Alathar would ever say.
                  As Naresh had scuttled off in the direction of the kitchens, just beginning to make his way down the stairs from whence he’d came, the great bronze doors at the far end of the Hall had creaked open, allowing inside the bellowing rumble of the thunder which had shook the Pen incessantly since the lighting of the Beacon the night before.
                  Clansmen had marched in, by the dozen, by the score, lined and