The Fanged Crown: The Wilds Read Online Free PDF

boil-on-a-halfling’s ass,” Boult muttered.
    “I’m going to assume that’s directed at the illustrious Hero of the Realm and not me,” Harp said when Boult had finished his tirade. He considered Boult. “This isn’t about my … relationship with Cardew, is it?”
    Boult snorted. “Relationship? Like you two strolled through a field of violets holding hands?”
    “You know what Cardew did to me,” Harp said. “And while it makes my heart feel all tingly that his name brings out such violence in you—”
    “It isn’t about you!”
    “Gee, Boult, even with the intellectual capacity of a loaf of bread, I managed to work that out,” Harp said pointedly. “Normally I’d have no interest in prying in your past. But it seems like I’m not the only one in the room keeping secrets, and at the heart of the matter is a man named Cardew. You’re right. I owe you an explanation. But I think you owe me one too.”
    “You should be put in a catapult and launched over a cliff,” Boult told him.
    “It’s your turn to confess, Boult,” Harp said quietly.
    “I hate the day you came caterwauling into the world.”
    “Yes, yes, you despise me,” Harp said. “Now talk.”
    “I was happier when I thought that son of a barghest was probably dead,” Boult said. He sat down on the edge of the cot and glared at the crumpled missive on the floor. “Have you ever heard of Amhar, Scourge of Tethyr?”
    “Of course. Who hasn’t?”
    “Who hasn’t?” he repeated sadly. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

CHAPTER FOUR
    30 Hammer, Year of Splendors Burning
    (1469 DR) The Road to Windhollow
    .mhar and the soldiers left the grounds of the Winter Palace and headed north up the dirt road. Each man carried a hooded lantern to ward off the gloom. During daylight hours, the pleasant track wound through the woods until it reached the foothills and climbed into the mountains beyond Windhollow. Queen Anais would have taken that road, had she not got stuck in Celleu due to the fog.
    Fog wasn’t a proper name for the weather, Amhar thought. Thick, fuggy, foul—it was as if gauze had enveloped the soldiers. Amhar’s breath clogged his nostrils and throat, and the fog pressed on his ears, smothering sounds. Darkness he could have handled—his eyes were made for the gloom of deep tunnels—but the fog obscured everything past the end of his axe.
    He tried to recall the name of the soldier trudging up the road beside him, but he couldn’t remember. Or maybe he’d never known in the first place. None of the men on the road with him were in his regiment or stationed with him in Darromar.
    Thinking of Darromar—right, ordered, well-built Darromar—Amhar wished he hadn’t been sent to the Winter Palace. It was an honor, to be sure, to be entrusted with the safety of the realm’s finest and the children of Anais and Evonne, the Heirs of Tethyr, besides.
    But that night, in the presence of the abnormal weather, fear had wormed its way into his chest.
    The groundskeeper vanished looking for the cook who disappeared with dinner unfinished. And why was that load of wood delivered in this weather? And then there were the guests themselves. They had managed to arrive before the fog settled, yet they were so fatigued they’d all begged off to their rooms to rest before dinner, without the usual preening and gossiping these sorts of events were full of.
    Nothing made sense.
    Preferring to be angry rather than afraid, Amhar focused his mind on Cardew, the idiot who was ignoring warning signs that were as plain as the nose on his face. Fussing about his dinner with an unnatural fog rising up and swallowing servants. And the children in the palace in that buffoon’s care!
    If anything happened, Amhar knew he’d blame Cardew’s stubborn posturing for the rest of his days.
    They reached the crest of the hill where they were supposed to rendevous with the man who had sent for reinforcements. The fog pressed in on them, smothering the light