The Broken Blade Read Online Free PDF Page B

stopped.
    Eamon gently urged his horse to the column and the sweating officer. Eamon counted the flames at the man’s collar.
    â€œIs something the matter, lieutenant?”
    â€œMy lord,” the man stammered. “I had no wish to impede your crossing of the Quarters.”
    By reflex, Eamon laughed; it did nothing to aid the pallor of the man’s face.
    â€œCrossing!” Eamon said good naturedly. “I agree, lieutenant, that my horse is more impatient than I, but I rather think that I was stationary at the time you arrived. You would not have impeded a thing.”
    The lieutenant bowed again. “Yes, my lord.” His knees shook.
    â€œAt ease,” Eamon told him. “You may take your column on, lieutenant.”
    The man rose uncertainly. “Thank you, my lord.” At a gesture he set the column moving again. It trundled back into motion like a weary ox at the ploughshare.
    Eamon retreated back into the shadow of the Four Quarters and watched the column go. The pale faces in the line could not meet his gaze, though they knew he was there; murmurs of “ the Right Hand!” ran through the line.
    Manoeuvring the line through the Four Quarters was no easy business. Carriages and people had to hold back at each of the roads leading into it, which caused a great amount of confusion and an indeterminate number of bruised egos. Eamon watched as the Gauntlet herded the passing populace and drove back those waiting their turn to pass. Group after group went by.
    Suddenly a face caught Eamon’s attention; it belonged to a middle-aged man whose back was bent beneath a tattered wicker basket. His eyes watched Eamon. As soon as his gaze was met, he looked quickly away.
    Eamon started. He knew the face. As the realization washed over him the man shuffled further into the belly of the line.
    Eamon pressed his horse forward. He struggled to remember the man’s name. He had served in Alessia’s house. Eamon was sure of it. But what was his name?
    â€œMr Cartwright,” he called at last.
    The hunched, half-hidden man fell still. At Eamon’s gesture the man came forward. He bowed low.
    â€œHow may I serve you, my lord?”
    â€œYou may do just that,” Eamon replied.
    The man looked confused. “My lord,” he said, “I was bidden to leave the city –”
    â€œAnd I bid you to stay in it.” He was the Right Hand – he could do as he pleased; and here was a known face. His encounter with Tramist, Dehelt’s words of warning, and the smile with which Arlaith had left him that morning had shaken him. “You served Lady Turnholt well,” he added gently. “Now you will serve me.”
    Cartwright bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
    â€œGo to the palace and ask for Lieutenant Fletcher,” Eamon told him. “Tell him that I sent you and that you are to join my servants.”
    â€œMy lord.” The man hefted the basket onto his back and climbed the Coll. The line continued moving, and he was lost from view.
    It was only then that Eamon realized he had not asked for service; he had commanded it.
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    He rode to the West Quarter and ascended the familiar steps into the college. He was told that Cathair had left the city early that morning for Ravensill on some business or other. Eamon was not sorry to learn that the West’s reports had been left with Captain Waite.
    The captain was in his office, crowded with perhaps the largest pile of papers that Eamon had yet seen. The reports that Waite gave him showed that the West’s walls had been checked, the Gauntlet was prepared, the militia were ready, and Waite and Cathair had already appointed the thresholders, the units of citizens and militia who would form the last defence of the city in time of need.
    â€œYou’ll find everything to your satisfaction, my lord,” Waite told him. “Lord Cathair sends his apologies for his absence.”
    â€œI