Love And War Read Online Free PDF Page A

feet.
    “Well, now it's in my book, as well,” said the half-elf, blotting the page and shaking off
     his own sadness. “But as to the title. How about, 'A Tale of Eternal Love'? - no, no, too
     corny. How about, 'A Tale of Two Loves'? You see, it's about two kinds of love, get it?”
    Barryn Warrex, not much caring what title the folklorist gave the story, trudged over to
     the flat rock where his helmet and shield were lying.
    “Well, I'll have to give that some thought,” continued Aril, tapping his quill feather
     against his downy chin. “By the way, this is most important: Should I put this story down
     as fact or as fable?”
    The knight put on his visorless helmet, his grand white moustaches flowing well out from
     it on both sides like two elegant handles. “The story is true enough as far as I'm
     concerned.”
    “Well, I don't know,” said Aril, squinting at the page through his spectacles. “It seems
     pretty incredible - even for the Forest of Wayreth. Perhaps if you had seen those Entwining Trees yourself, it
     would lend credibility - ”
    With some effort, Barryn Warrex stooped and lifted his heavy, dull shield. “My friend, all
     I know is that I, too, once had a beautiful daughter, and that one day, she, too, reached
     marriageable age. I behaved no better than this Aron Dewweb.”
    “Oh - I'm so sorry,” said Aril Witherwind awkwardly, not sure how to respond to such a
     confession. “Uh, I myself have never had children - ”
    The old knight slung the shield across his back, and he became as stooped under its weight
     as Aril was under his tome. Even as he spoke, Barryn Warrex started off down into the
     grassy, flower-dotted valley, where butterflies flitted about him as if to cheer him up.
     “It is many years since my own daughter ran away with her lover.”
    Aril remained perched on his rock, and, trying to hear the retreating knight, he started a
     new page and began scribbling once more in his book.
    “Now this old knight has but one last mission in his life,” said Warrex, walking ever
     farther off, his voice growing fainter, “and that is to find my daughter and this husband
     of hers - ”
    “ - and,” murmured Aril, repeating the knight's words exactly as he wrote them down, “ -
     give - them - my - blessing.”
    A Painter's Vision Barbara Siegel and Scott Siegel “It looks so real,” said Curly Kyra with awe. She brushed long ringlets of black hair away
     from her eyes and stared at the painting, ignoring calls from down the bar for another
     round of ale. “It's a beautiful boat.” Softly, with wonder in her voice, she added, “It
     seems as if it could almost sail right off the canvas.”
    “Almost, but not quite,” replied Sad-Eye Seron, the painter. He was a skinny man with a
     gentle face. His eyebrows drooped at the edges, giving him the perpetually sad expression
     that had earned him his nickname. But he smiled now, enjoying the effect his new painting
     was having on the lovely, young barmaid he had courted all summer long.
    “Will it make a lot of money?” asked Kyra hopefully. Seron's smile vanished. “I sometimes
     think that you're the only one who likes my work. Everybody else in Flotsam says, 'Why buy pictures of
     things that I can see whenever I look out my window?' ”
    “Hey, Kyra,” bellowed a patron with an empty mug. “Am I going to get a refill, or should I
     just come back there and pour my own?”
    The tavern owner stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Tend to business,” he warned his
     barmaid.
    “All right, I'm going,” Kyra said. But she didn't move. Instead, she shook her head at the
     magnificent sailing scene and stood there in admiration of Seron's artistry.
    If Seron was an underappreciated painter, the same could not be said of the pretty picture
     known as Curly Kyra. Every unmarried man - and plenty of the married ones - had hopes of
     bedding her. She had alabaster skin, bright brown eyes,