The Godless Read Online Free PDF

countryside. At the end of it, they had had enough money to pay a widow poor compensation for her loss and, as he looked over them, he saw the scars of that experience, the weariness that was not so much about flesh, as it was about soul. With a nod to them they left to follow Heast’s directions; when he turned the captain’s fingers were pressed against his leg. A faint ring of blood showed at the hip.
    â€œYou ought to see a healer about that,” Bueralan said.
    â€œI have.”
    â€œA real healer. Not the ones here that cover you in herbs and stitch wounds.”
    â€œYou mean warlocks?” said Heast coldly. “Witches? Heal with blood and pay with gold.”
    Behind them, one of the drummers hit his skin softly, testing it. “It would make it easier to climb stairs, at least,” Bueralan said.
    â€œEase is not something I concern myself with.” Approaching the drummer who was tapping out a soft beat, he said, “I’ll take this man to see the Lady, Oric. Ten more minutes and you can begin cleaning up.”
    The limping captain led Bueralan off his podium, the latter slowing his pace for the former as he made his way awkwardly down the stairs.
    Ahead sat the Keep of the Spine. Set against the solid stone of the mountain, it used the natural formation as a wall and a foundation for its four tall towers, the dark stones giving it the appearance of having been carved from the mountain, rather than built into it. The illusion had been recently broken by a huge wooden wall that ran from the edge of the Keep down into the Spine of Ger itself, the hard, warm light of the sun following each angle of the construction.
    As the Spine’s Keep drew closer, Bueralan saw that the walls in front had been reinforced, and the grounds there reduced to flat dirt. There had been gardens, once, and though they were not renowned, Lady Wagan’s reputation as a proud gardener, the mercenary recalled, was because of the diversity that she had managed to grow in the tropical heat. As he followed the path up to the Keep’s entrance, he remembered that previously the grounds had been an array of clashing colors, a living, visual equivalent of the diversity that swept through the cobbled streets of Mireea, and the trade found in its markets.
    It had been different last time he’d been here, Bueralan thought. Then as he’d walked through the famed markets of Mireea, and followed each turn of the cobbled road, he’d been accompanied by the clamor of merchants yelling, the aroma of food, of spice and tobacco. The best and most expensive merchants had been here, within easy reach of the Keep, but even in the working-class sections around yards and small houses, there had been stalls selling everyday necessities. But now, from the gate, through the wide roads that led to the poorer parts, Bueralan saw only a city that was defined by its silence. The archways in the Spine that had once been so full of people, bartering, a good-natured bickering, were now bricked-up lanes with mercenaries gathered, singly and in groups, waiting to see if they would be offered work by either the larger mercenary groups already hired, or by Heast himself. Beyond them, the woods that had pressed against the Spine were gone, making way for a wide, loosely packed killing ground of dirt.
    â€œDid he die well?” Heast asked abruptly.
    â€œDoes anyone?” They were talking about Elar, Heast’s cousin, the man Bueralan had lost in Ille. “He died hard,” he admitted.
    â€œDon’t we all?”
    â€œWe were forced to cremate him before we sent him home.”
    Heast grunted, unsurprised. “Was the business finished?”
    â€œYes.” A silence fell between the two, awkward for a moment. “Do you not run the markets any more?” Bueralan asked.
    â€œThey stopped six months ago,” Heast said.
    â€œAnd the city’s economy?”
    â€œYou’ll get paid,