The Chimaera Regiment Read Online Free PDF Page A

silver eyes. “If he travels the world in search of his heritage, defeats a warlord, and saves his people, and he never tells Bronwyn how much he loves her, then he doesn’t deserve her.”
    Aneirin laughed, but the smile did not reach his eyes. When he spoke again, sadness crept into his voice. “I pray that it is such a foregone conclusion.” He glanced at Rhoda. “I am sorry, too, that I was not there to save Abram.”
    She looked at him with an expression that ridiculed his repetition. “You have said that before, milord, many times. My husband was a good man, and I mourn his loss, but I do not blame you. He knew what he was doing.”
    They were passing the town guard barracks. In the yard, six men were training with swords, slaying the air. Rhoda continued, “Hector, however, does not. He practiced a great deal to enter the town guard, but he was never dedicated to it. I fear that he is not ready for a real fight.”
    Aneirin nodded. “I know. That is why I am not sending him alone. I will have Lord Cyrus order one of the guard with him, a wise man with great skill. He will train Hector along the journey.”
    Rhoda smiled. “Thank you, milord,” she said genuinely. She stopped as they reached the foot of a hill. At its crest stood the house belonging to the lord of the Alkimites. Rhoda bowed to the Guardian. “At your leave, milord,” she requested.
    Aneirin bowed in return. “Of course, Lady Rhoda,” he answered. “Aulus with you.”
    “And with you, milord.”
    When Rhoda was gone, Aneirin turned and began to climb the steps leading up to Cyrus’ home. The large house doubled as the Alkimites’ center of government, so there were guards coming and going alongside suppliants and couriers. It seemed Cyrus was having a busy day—but his other business would have to wait.
    As Aneirin entered the house, he was immediately accosted by a dark-haired man in a warrior’s leather raiment. “Lord Aneirin,” the man called, “I must speak with you.”
    “Another time, soldier,” Aneirin replied, “I have urgent business with Lord Cyrus.”
    “I assure you, milord, you need to hear what I have to say,” the man persisted, “Lord Bayl sent me to find you. It’s about the invader, Derek.”
    Bayl’s name caught Aneirin’s attention. He turned to look more closely at the strange man. He was no Alkimite, Aneirin recognized. He reprimanded himself for not seeing it sooner. “What is your name, man?” the Guardian asked.
    “Brynjar,” the dark-haired man replied, “My name is Brynjar.”
    “Of the Drengari.” It was not a question.
    Brynjar acknowledged, “Yes, milord.”
    Aneirin nodded, a smile drawing at his lips. “Come with me, Lord Brynjar,” he said, “We have much to discuss.”
    They climbed a half-dozen steps and passed through a wide threshold. Three guards stood at attention on their left and on their right as they entered the court of Lord Cyrus. The graying chieftain seemed haggard, beleaguered. He set his hoary face upon one hand, that elbow leaning heavily on the armrest of his chair. He was flanked by a tall warrior, who had a long sword belted to his side. The warrior stepped forward; Aneirin recognized him as Cyrus’ chief bodyguard, a brave and righteous man called Draus.
    Draus called out, “Who enters the court unannounced?”
    Cyrus waved his free arm wearily. “Quiet down, Draus!” he exclaimed. The hand holding up his jaw shifted to massage his forehead. “Whoever it is can speak. I am tired of standing on ceremony today.”
    “Lord Cyrus,” Aneirin addressed him boldly.
    The Guardian’s unmistakable voice snapped Cyrus to attention. The lord straightened his back and adjusted his posture. “Lord Aneirin!” he responded, a false smile spreading across his face. “I was not expecting you.” He stood, gesturing at the table behind him. On it were several platters of meat, some cattle, some fowl. “Please,” Cyrus entreated, “Help yourself, milord, and rest