Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) Read Online Free PDF

if you move.” Defeated, knowing he had no chance, Mouse relaxed. The Tyr studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Small and scrawny,” he commented. “But you’ll grow a fair bit before you’re finished. And you’ll fill out into a man’s shape when you’ve stopped growing. How old are you?”
    The clansman’s grip on Mouse’s chin made it difficult to speak. “I don’t know,” he said. “Almost sixteen, I think.”
    “Then you’ve a lot of growing time left.”
    “I’ll die of overwork on that galley before I grow much taller,” Mouse said hoarsely.
    “What galley?” the Tyr asked, grinning widely. “I’m a dreadful liar, boy. I own no galley.”
    “Then why—?”
    “Did I buy you? Hellas knows. But now that I’ve got you, what am I to do with you?”
    Mouse had no answer for him.
    The Tyr grinned. “I could sell you again,” he said. He paused. “Or I could even free you.”
    Mouse looked up at him, his mouth gone suddenly dry, unable to breathe for a moment as his heart kicked painfully against his ribs.
    “How much is your freedom worth, boy?”
    “Everything,” Mouse said softly, hardly daring to hope.
    “You cost me five silver,” the Tyr said. He reached out with his free hand and took the two daggers from Mouse’s belt. He held them up to the dim light and frowned as he studied them. They were a fine matching pair, the hilts inlaid with silver and gold wire in an intricate design. He nodded. “A fair exchange,” he murmured. “A pair of daggers for five silver, and I make a profit on the transaction. Fair enough?”
    Mouse’s knees gave way and he sagged in the Tyr’s grip. “Fair enough,” he whispered, hardly daring to trust him.
    The Tyr let go of Mouse’s chin, eased him down into a heap of straw, and sat on his heels in front of the boy. His expression softened and he smiled. “There are no slaves in Tyra, boy,” he said, “and I’m a man who hates slavery. It’s against the laws of all the gods and against the laws of nature. Men were made to live with no chains binding them. You’re free to go where you choose.”
    “Do you mean that?”
    “Trust me,” the Tyr said and suddenly, irrationally, Mouse did. Completely and without question.
    The Tyr laughed again, and Mouse knew where he had heard that laugh before. “You were at Mendor’s Landholding when I escaped,” he said, startled.
    “Aye, I was. I had business with him.” He grinned widely. “You created quite a kerfuffle that night.”
    Mouse frowned and clenched his fist. “I wish I’d killed Mendor.”
    “Aye, well, you didn’t do his son a whole lot of good, if that’s any compensation.” The Tyr drew a dagger from a boot sheath and replaced it with one of the silver-chased daggers. “You might want this,” he said to Mouse, handing him the slender weapon. Hesitantly, Mouse took it and slipped it into the top of his boot.
    “Where will you go?” the man asked, more gently.
    Faced suddenly with real freedom rather than mere headlong flight, Mouse stared blankly at him. “I have no idea.”
    “I have need of men to work with me, if you’re interested,” the Tyr said. “I have a band of merchant train guards. We need good men for this coming season. It pays your keep, ten silver per trip and a bonus for any fighting. Interested?”
    Unable to speak, Mouse nodded. Then he cleared his throat and said, “But I don’t know how to use a sword or bow—”
    The Tyr grinned. “You’re scrawny now but you managed that bounty hunter well enough,” he said. “You’ll learn, I think. Men with red hair like ours learn as well as they want to. Stubborn, we are. Very stubborn.”
    “Stubborn is one of the least offensive things they called me.” Mouse smiled for the first time. “Then, yes. I’m interested.”
    The Tyr stood up and extended his hand to help Mouse to his feet. “I’m Cullin dav Medroch dav Kian,” he said. “And you?”
    “They call me Foxmouse. Or just