Full-Blood Half-Breed Read Online Free PDF Page B

last laugh on him after all, or at least their burro had.The beast’s droppings smeared one leg of his breeches, his leather tabi socks, and sandals. His hands, too, were covered in the pungent muck. He looked up to see the farm boys laughing at him from the back of their wagon as it pulled into the arena.
    Everyone laughed at him: his friends, Torneo competitors, even ignorant tourists from villages so insignificant they could not be found on even the most meticulously rendered maps. He glanced toward the heavens and implored Seisakusha,
Why?
What offense had he offered the goddess that She would humiliate him so? Had he not been Her faithful servant? He was diligent in his prayers and tireless in his veneration. He had nearly memorized every passage of the
Nyusu
, and probably knew the holy book better than half the monks at Temple Seisakusha, so why would She bring him so low, and before the eyes of so many people? He wished he could become invisible.
    He climbed to his feet, too embarrassed to look at Urbano or Jorge, though their laughter was impossible to ignore. He watched the faces—black, white, brown, and yellow—of the folk traveling through Círculo del Triunfo, and searched his memory of Seisakushan holy text for a passage that might justify the goddess’s ill treatment of him. He could think of no sin he had committed to offend Seisakusha or incur Her wrath. Then his gaze found one mongrelly face shuffling through the crowds toward Westgate, and he remembered a section in the
Nyusu
on supplications: “Take care when entreating the goddess, for nothing is free and no haggler as shrewd as Seisakusha. She may grant your wish, but at a price you can ill afford.”
    The only boon he had ever wished from the goddess was revenge for the kumite treachery. In having the mongrel expelled from temple, Seisakusha had granted that prayer, but would he pay for it with eternal humiliation? Was Fox the Runt’s entire existence to be one big dung heap because he had entreated the goddess to right a grievous wrong done to him? And if this was the price, how in Schöpfer’s name was that just? He wanted to curse Seisakusha, but he would never commit such sacrilege. Instead he cursed the half-breed. Had it not been for the mongrel’s chicanery, he would not now be paying this loathsome cost for vengeance. The hibrido should be covered in dung, not him. Anger, cold and righteous, eclipsed his embarrassment.
    His hands were already covered in muck, and even had they not been, he would not have cared. The time had come to share his misery with the mongrel that had spawned it. He scooped up a large handful of the burro’s dung—Urbano and Jorge howled in disgust and bolted away from him—and packed it into a tight ball.
    The mongrel was oblivious. His head hung low. He looked almost as miserable as he was about to feel.
    “Paladin Del Darkdragón!” Fox the Runt yelled, and let fly.
    The mongrel looked up and a split second later, the dung ball burst into his face. Urbanoand Jorge stood dumbstruck, their eyes and mouths forming perfect circles of astonishment.
    “Bane’s-eye!” Fox the Runt said.
    Urbano and Jorge dropped to the street in a fit of hilarity so debilitating Fox the Runt was sure they would not have been able to move had a herd of wild horses stampeded down the street. He took one look at the mongrel’s feces-covered face and joined them. He and his companions rolled in the street, clutching their bellies, overcome.
    The mongrel glared down at him, his black eyes flickering with naked hatred, his thick bottom lip quivering like he was on the verge of sobbing. He growled, “Get up, Runt. Get up, cabrón!”
    Fox the Runt climbed to his feet, his body racked with giggles. Urbano and Jorge, and everyone else watching the scene, cackled at the sight. Before long, there was a near mob of folk pointing at the muck-covered mongrel and sniggering. Fox the Runt knew the halbrasse might attack him right there on