Servant of a Dark God Read Online Free PDF Page B

his back to walk. Lords, even his toes protested. He looked down, saw a smart bruise on his left foot and realized someone must have stomped it.
    But these were physical pains. They would heal. At least, he hoped they would, especially the blows to his brain. The Sleth, on the other hand, were different. And he couldn’t tell what would be worse: to be taken by the Bone Faces and forced into a nine-fingered enslavement or to be kept in storage like a living carcass, to be feasted upon or twisted into something unnatural. At least with the Bone Faces he’d die a man.
    And how could he follow the bailiff’s suggestion and bring in the hatchlings, the children of these Sleth? A proper Sleth hunt required one hundred men. It required a Divine. Was he expecting the Koramites to field groups of hunters? But the bailiff had been looking at him. It had been clear he was suggesting Talen join in the hunt. Except, what could one runt do?
    If he had his bow, he might be able to do something. That is if the Sleth didn’t know the arrow was coming. He’d heard once at an alehouse that Sleth could whisper to arrows. Even so, he didn’t have his bow. He was defenseless. What were a few stones going to do against Sleth? The thing to do now was get back to Da and the others as quickly as he could and alert them.
    The hatchlings were somewhere in these woods. He tried to act calm—the last thing prey should do is act like prey. But then the distinct thock of a branch breaking sounded off to his right followed by a squirrel screeching out a warning.
    His heart leapt up into his throat. But he told himself it was a falling branch, told himself to stand upright and walk like a man. He quickened his pace despite the twinge in his back.
    Then came a grunt and high keening, something moving toward him, scuffling through the leaves on the forest floor.
    You are not prey, he told himself, you are not prey, but try as he might, he could not be calm. Could not walk. Could do nothing but abandon all pretense, ignore his injuries, and run.
    Not once did he look back. He dared not. Eyes to the front, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to smack into a branch or step wrong, or, most especially, see the face of the thing that surely was behind him. He knew if he saw the beast, his courage was likely to completely desert him. At that point it would be impossible to do anything but cringe upon the ground like a cornered rabbit. So it was eyes in front, even when the woods broke before him and he saw the river below and the farm stretching away from him on the far side.
    Talen ran down to the river, stumbled through the shallow water of the ford, and scrabbled up the other side. Only when he reached the smoke shed did he stop and turn, and, with much panting, search the woods.
    Nothing. Nothing at all.
    The Sleth children, if there had ever been any, must have been one-legged pigeons. No regular monsters would have let him escape alive.
    Of course, there probably hadn’t been a thing in those woods besides squirrels and mice. The sound he’d heard was most certainly somebody’s renegade pig.
    Coward, he told himself, and bent over, resting his hands on his knees. He was such a coward.
    “Where’s the handcart?”
    Talen turned. Da sat in the shady side of the barn, sharpening his scythe. Seeing that great horse of a man brought immense relief.
    “Back at the bridge,” said Talen. He took a breath.
    “Ah, that’s what I like to see. A boy who races home to work and leaves the chickens to fend for themselves.”
    “Da,” said Talen. “The bailiff wants you.”
    “We’re mowing the fields now. The bailiff can wait.”
    Then he stopped and looked at Talen more closely. “Is that blood? What happened to your face?”
    Talen poured out everything that had happened, including his run through the woods. As the story progressed, Da stroked the braids of his beard with increasing anger.
    When Talen finished, Da set his scythe aside and