In the Realm of the Wolf Read Online Free PDF Page A

find a point of reference.
    “Water or fermented apple juice?” she asked him.
    Opening the pouch at his side, he removed a small packet and handed it to her. “Make a tisane of that,” he requested. “Just pour boiling water on it and leave it for a little while.”
    “What is it?” she inquired, lifting the packet to her nose and drawing in the scent.
    “A few herbs, dill and the like. Keeps me young,” he said with a wide grin.
    She left him then, and he sat quietly, drinking in his surroundings. The cabin was well built, the main room long and wide, the hearth and chimney solidly constructed of limestone. The south wall had been timbered, and a bearskin hung there. Ralis smiled. It was neatly done, but he had walked these mountains before Dakeyras was born, and he knew about the cave, had sheltered there a time or two. But it was a clever idea to build a cabin against a cave mouth and then disguise the entrance. A man should always have an escape route.
    “How long should I leave it brewing?” came Miriel’s voice from the back room.
    “Several minutes,” he replied. “When the shredded leaves start to sink, it’ll be ready.”
    The weapons rack on the wall caught his eye: two longbows, several swords, a saber, a Sathuli tulwar, and half a dozen knives of various lengths and curves. He sat up. A new crossbow lay upon the table. It was a nice piece, and Ralis levered himself from his chair and picked up the weapon, examining the gold embossing.
    “It is a good bow,” said Miriel, striding back into the room.
    “It’s better than the man who owned it,” he told her.
    “You knew him?”
    “Kreeg. A cross between a snake and a rat. Good Guild member, though. Could have been rich if he wasn’t such a bad gambler.”
    “He tried to kill my father; we don’t know why.”
    Ralis said nothing. Miriel moved to the kitchen, returning with his tisane, which he sipped slowly. They ate in comfortable silence, the old man devouring three helpings of lion meat. Dipping a slab of freshly baked bread into the rich gravy, he looked up at Miriel and sighed. “They don’t eat as well as this in the palace at Drenan,” he said.
    “You are a flatterer, Ralis,” she chided him. “But I like it.”
    Wandering to his pack, he untied the flap and delved deep into the interior, coming up at last with a corked metal flask and three small silver cups. Returning to the table, he filled the cups with amber liquid. “The taste of heaven,” he said, savoring the moment.
    Miriel lifted her cup and sipped the spirit. “It’s like swallowing fire,” she said, reddening.
    “Yes. Good, isn’t it?”
    “Tell me about Kreeg.”
    “Not much to tell. He was from the south, a farm boy originally. Fought in the Vagrian Wars and then joined Jonat for the rebellion. When Karnak smashed the rebel army, Kreeg spent a year or two in Ventria. Mercenary, I think. He joined the Guild three years ago. Not one of their best, you understand, but good enough.”
    “Then someone paid him to kill my father?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    The old man shrugged. “Let’s wait until he gets back.”
    “You make it sound like a mystery.”
    “I just don’t like repeating myself. At my age time is precious. How much do you remember of your childhood?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean Dakeyras. Where did you meet him?” He could see that the question had surprised her and watched her expression change from open and friendly to guarded and wary.
    “He’s my father,” she said softly.
    “No,” he told her. “Your family was killed in a raid during the Vagrian Wars. And Dakeyras, riding with a man named Dardalion, found you and your sister … and a brother, I believe, in the care of a young woman.”
    “How do you know this?”
    “Because of Kreeg,” he said, refilling his cup.
    “I don’t understand.”
    The voice of Dakeyras cut in from the doorway. “He means he knows who Kreeg was sent to kill.” The tall man untied the