Season of Sacrifice Read Online Free PDF Page A

struggling like a fish caught in a net. Her little body twisted and pulled, and she thrashed her head about as if she were determined to break her own neck if she could not be free. One well-placed kick landed against the inlander’s armored solar plexus, but the man’s strong right arm merely tightened across the girl’s vulnerable throat. He transferred his fury to the soft flesh and tiny bones. Maida kicked one last time and then slumped in the soldier’s grasp.
    Reade was tangled in Duke Coren’s own arms, struggling with the terror of a trapped coney. Coren’s beard jutted out like a broken tree limb, and his thin lips twisted in a snarl.
    Before Alana could cry out, the duke raised a silver-chased dagger. The pommel was set with a heavy ruby that glinted across the beach, mirroring the bloody knife embroidered on Coren’s chest. With the smooth gesture of a man dispatching a stubborn fish, the duke brought the hilt down, smashing into the tender flesh behind the boy’s ear. Reade continued to struggle feebly, but the inlander had no trouble hoisting the child onto his huge destrier.
    And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the terror was over. The People stared in ragged ranks as the soldiers swung up on their horses, leading their slavering dogs up the steep cliffside path. Teresa’s harsh sobs meshed with the waves, and a lone gull cried out as the inlanders rode off with the twins.

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    Alana gaped at the chaos around her.
    Some of the People had run up the steep cliff path, following Coren’s soldiers, bellowing threats and shaking their fists. Their only weapons, though, were brands that they had grabbed from the cookfires and an occasional iron knife. The leader of the Men’s Council showed enough foresight to seize one of the gaffs from a fishing boat, but even he was defeated by the inlanders’ dogs, driven back down the cliff face to the frantic turmoil on the beach.
    The vast majority of the People had been too afraid, too startled, too overwhelmed to even think about pursuing their attackers. They had scattered across the narrow beach like flotsam after a storm. Children screamed in terror; mothers sobbed. Men lunged savagely toward the cliff path, only to spin back toward the sea in impotent fear.
    Dogs. Armor. Swords. Deceit. The inlanders could defeat the People without even trying.
    “The Guardians have abandoned us!” Alana heard one young mother cry, and the words were taken up by others.
    “Cursed us!”
    “Destroyed us!”
    The Spirit Council, at least, managed to respond to that threat. The quartet of soothsayers flowed together, rising up from the People’s ragged ranks as the cries of despair broke against the cliffside. As if they had planned a worship ceremony on this day of first harvest, the four councilors joined hands and began chanting the Creation Hymn.
    The prayer told of the People’s place in the world, the People’s creation on the fifth day, after the Guardians of Earth and Air, after the Guardians of Fire and Water. The words were traditional, as comforting as a mother’s arms. As the councilors chanted, the People grew calm, bespelled by the fragile blanket of familiarity.
    The Spirit Council chanted louder then, raising their joined hands above their heads and marching out into the breaking ocean, as if this were midsummer’s eve and the Festival of Cleansing. “And the Guardians of Water brought grief into the world, washing the world in salt, salt tears,” they chanted, their words sharpening as they walked into the swirling seawater.
    The hymn served its purpose.
    Children stopped their wailing, shocked into silence by the sight of four adults, chest deep in the ocean, by the tumble of familiar religious words. Grown women swallowed their keening, turning their attention to the councilors. Even the men looked to the Spirit Council, and a few raised ragged voices in the hymn. “And the People were created, molded from the earth, cast in the fire, washed in the