The Cutting Edge Read Online Free PDF Page B

evenly, checking his chain mail and even making sure he had no inkstains on his fingers.
    Shandie must be just as exhausted as Ylo, but he didn't look it. He had as much reason to be exhausted. He had marched all the previous night at the head of his legion-Shandie never rode into battle, which was one reason the men all loved him so. He had fought as hard as Ylo, certainly, and driven himself as hard ever since. Yet the bastard wasn't showing it.
    Those imperial eyes were on his face ... "You're doing very well, Signifer. " Gulp. "Thank you, sir."
    "Extremely well. I appreciate what this is costing you. Now, we're probably going to have another visitor." The prince lowered his voice. "I can't guarantee it, but he does like to watch battles. Close the door."
    Ylo went. The night air outside was perfumed with some plant he didn't know, and sweet as wine, now that it was cooling off. The camp was dark. The inside of the tent stank of oil. The flaps fell, shutting out the desert night, shutting in the two men and the dance of lamplight.
    Shandie was standing at one side, waiting like a boulder. Maybe the man was crazy. Ylo limped over and stood behind him, the two of them facing the entrance. The single chair sat in the center, empty. The water clock dripped monotonously. Superstitious tinglings stroked Ylo's scalp. This was madness. Then the flap on one side flicked up momentarily, and a man entered-except that Ylo had the curious delusion that he'd seen the darkness of the opening uninterrupted until the flap was falling again, and in that case ...
    Man?
    He was very big. His armor shone in gold, with jewels on his breastplate and greaves. His helmet lacked cheek pieces or noseguard, so that the handsome young face could be clearly seen.
    Shandie saluted. Ylo froze, but fortunately that was what he was supposed to do. Then his knees began shaking.
    A God? But people who had seen Gods didn't describe Them as looking like that. The crest on the helmet was gold. There was no rank in the army that merited a gold crest, not even the imperor himself. This was the largest imp Ylo had ever seen, as big as a jotunn, or a troll ...
    God of Terror! A sorcerer! The warlock of the east, of course. The giant returned the salute, muscular forearm across chest. "You nearly screwed up!" he said, his voice deep as thunder, thrilling as a bugle call. Ylo wondered how women would react to this marvel. Of course all that would matter would be how he wanted them to react-a warlock got whatever he fancied.
    "You could have helped!" Shandie snapped.
    Ylo almost moaned aloud. How dare the prince lip a warlock? Then he remembered that the Protocol forbade anyone to employ sorcery on the imperor or his family, and Shandie was certainly family. So he was safe. But that didn't mean that Ylo wasn't in danger. The wardens were laws unto themselves. Sweat streamed down his ribs, his legs shook wildly. He had reached the limits of his endurance.
    The sorcerer scowled. "I chose not to help."
    Shandie shrugged his armored shoulders. "Your Omnipotence, may I present-"
    "An Yllipo? The old bugger will disown you!" the giant said, striding across to the chair. "You trying to kill him with an apoplexy?"
    "Of course not!"
    Protocol or not, how could Shandie dare use such a tone to a warlock? Or such a giant? Of course a sorcerer was not necessarily what he seemed, and Warlock Olybino was mentioned in the stories Ylo's family told of his grandfather and the Dark River War, and that had been forty years ago.
    He could not possibly be as young as he looked.
    "He'll breathe fire! An Yllipo?" The hostility seemed to be mutual. The warlock's black eyes locked onto Ylo. "So you want me to tell you whether the traitor's spawn is going to be loyal, or whether he's planning to stick-"
    "No! " Shandie barked. "That is not what I want. I told him Id trust him, and I will trust him. That is not what I want."
    "What then? Why's he here?"
    "Part of his education. Was his father a