Prince of Outcasts Read Online Free PDF Page B

said. . . . Wait a minute. . . . That weird little kid she picked up at the castle in the desert is there . . . The Koreans are attacking! They’re fighting!”
    He opened his mouth to say something more, then gave a quick gasping grunt.
Something
had punched him in an entirely non-physical way that still felt like a paralyzing blow to the pit of the stomach. The Sword of the Lady had been bared, and then thrust into the living flesh of Montival, the land it had been created to embody and protect. John could
feel
that protection spreading, like a skin of invisible steel rooted deep in the bones of Earth.
    What came next was a hurricane wash of flame. For a moment he drew breath to scream as his skin was flayed off, then realized that there was no pain and no heat. Feldman and a few of the sailors were looking at him oddly. Deor wasn’t; he’d stumbled to his knees, and Thora was beside him with an arm around his shoulders and stark concern on her face.
    â€œ
Kusanagi
has been drawn in anger,”
he said, or Something spoke through him. “
Amaterasu-ōmikami’s
daughter takes the Grasscutter Sword to war.”
    Feldman was frowning slightly, but no more than that. As if he was mildly frustrated that things were happening which might involve him in a deadly fight at any moment. There were things that being of the High King’s line gave you; he wasn’t at all sure that they were advantages, though.
    â€œCaptain, something very bad is going to happen,” John said tightly.
    He hadn’t known exactly what he was going to say until he’d said it, but when he had it rang with the brazen inevitability of utter truth.
    Feldman nodded cautiously. “With those
mamzrim
”—he inclined his head towards the Korean warships—“I’m not surprised.”
    John swallowed. A good deal depended on his being very clear.
Including my life,
he thought.
    And while he was good with words, he usually wasn’t talking for his life. Fortunately he wasn’t the only man of words on the ship.
    â€œHe’s right, Moishe,” Deor said; he and the Captain had first met when they were both in their teens and were good if not exactly close friends. “The Prince doesn’t mean bad as in evil. Just . . .
terrible
. Something terrible is about to happen, not wicked, but powerful and very dangerous to anyone who gets caught in it. Like an earthquake or a storm.”
    The word the
scop
used tripped something, and suddenly John was very certain. “Storm! There’s going to be a storm!”
    Feldman looked at him, waiting. He swallowed again, conscious that his life, all their lives, might depend on what he said next.
    â€œ
Kusanagi
 . . . the Grass-Cutting Sword was named after a battle where a Japanese prince used it to turn a blaze back on its makers. It commands the spirits of Fire and Air . . . what they called it before then was
Ama-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi.
The Sword of the Gathering Clouds of Heaven! A fragment of the sun embodied in the world of men. Like . . . like a flail of flame and wind. And the Sun drives the Earth’s tempests; even the ancients knew that much.”
    Feldman met his eyes for a long moment, glanced at Deor’s face gone pale under its weathered tan, then nodded slightly, a single quick jerk of the chin. Then he turned to his First Mate:
    â€œMr. Radavindraban, strike all sail. Storm canvas only. Batten down around, and have a sea anchor ready to go over the stern. Lively, if you please. McGuire, signal
make storm preparations
to the RMN ship.”
    The deck officer called out instructions through his speaking-trumpet. Sailors exploded into motion. The catapults were uncocked and doubled tarpaulins lashed over them. The sails came down at a run, all but the narrow triangular staysails that ran from the foremast to the bowsprit, and the crew lashed the furled canvas