Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) Read Online Free PDF

echoed under the coffered ceiling. The peace conferences
had concluded a couple of months before, and they had exhausted everyone
involved. Though recovery for both sides was well underway, tallies of the dead
haunted the king. Kelyn knew only because Rhorek confided in him. In his
nightmares, he said, the numbers on long scrolls of parchment grew and grew.
Every time he looked, the number had changed and it was always higher than
before, higher than he could fathom. Were there so many people in all the
world? All of them dead. He walked onto the battlements over a blighted
landscape, and there was not a living soul in sight. Only ravens circling carpets
of corpses. Little doubt, Rhorek felt responsible for every soldier’s loss. He
always had, and Kelyn supposed the loss of the delegation he had sent east would
be no exception. “Are the dwarves sure it wasn’t Fierans?”
    “Wolf said magic was involved,
sire.” Hiller was bearing up under the interrogation admirably. Kelyn knew only
too well what it was like being on the receiving end of Rhorek’s anguished
tirades. “Strange things, he said. Apparently, Uncle Diggs mentioned something shimmering ,
sire.”
    “Shimmering?”
    “Of course, Wolf was near
delusional when he was interviewed. Invisible bears, he said.”
    Rhorek sighed. “No more talk of
that. I will not have this brave boy’s dignity marred because of imaginings of
a feverish mind.”
    “What if the squire wasn’t
delusional,” Kelyn said. The king stopped pacing at that. “It could be my
brother’s fault. A Fieran search for magical means of warfare, I mean.” The
horrors and wonders that occurred on the battlefield after Thorn Kingshield made
an appearance might make any army envious. Was it impossible to imagine that
Princess Ki’eva had hunted up an avedra for herself?
    Rhorek leant heavily on the back of
a chair. “That doesn’t bear thinking about. The dwarves are investigating the
slaughter?”
    Hiller nodded, running a finger
around the rim of his goblet and finding it too difficult to hold the king’s
intense gaze. “They have pledged their honor to find the culprits.”
    “We cannot ask for more. Except
full reports from you, Hiller. Lord Zeldanor had an heir, didn’t he, a son?”
    Kelyn shot a glance toward the
towering double doors where his two squires waited on hand. Young Eliad was
trying not to look at Laral, but curiosity got the better of him. Laral stared
at the floor, grief plain on his face. He and Drys had been fast friends since
the war began.
    “Was he killed as well?” Rhorek
asked.
    “No, sire,” said Hiller. “He’s
squire to Lord Gyfan at Blue Mountain. He’s been informed.”
    Once Rhorek dismissed his guest and
his councilor, Kelyn started for his quarters with his squires in tow. Eliad,
at ten, got over the news easily and complained of a growling stomach, but Laral
was too worried to think about supper. “Drys is Lord Zeldanor now, isn’t he?”
he asked, keeping his voice low in the echoing corridor. “He’s just sixteen, it
isn’t right!”
    “No, it isn’t,” Kelyn said,
remembering that day of fire and ice when his own father was slain. Pausing under
the light of stained-glass lamps, he set a firm hand on Laral’s shoulder. His
older squire had grown nearly as tall as himself and might outgrow him yet. “Go
write a letter of condolence. Better, go to him yourself. Drys probably needs a
friend right now.”
    Laral seemed to think the idea of
abandoning his post a scandal. “But—”
    “Eliad is more than capable of
seeing to my needs. Besides I’m a big boy and can handle most things by myself,
even if I never admit it to the likes of you. I was a squire once, too,
remember. We’ll manage just fine.”
    Laral squirmed under the sarcasm.
“M’ lord … I won’t know what to say to him.”
    “Of course you will. You lost your
mother and your brother. Stay as long as Drys needs you.”
    A quiet presence joined them. Who
else