The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

beyond anything familiar to her.

CHAPTER THREE
    A T noon they stopped for a quick meal of bread and warm ale. Nadira turned her bread around, trying to find a soft spot to start on. She chewed tentatively and wondered about all the food that must be in the knapsacks on the packhorses. No one had touched those bags, and she did not ask. She thought longingly of the mid-day meals in Sofir’s house. Ample platters fed Sofir and his guests; many of the leftovers usually found their way into her stomach. The memory of yesterday’s roasted apples dipped in honey made her squirm on the hard ground.
    She glared at the last bite before grudgingly consuming it, forcing the dry morsel down her throat with a swallow from a small tin cup. The men reposed in various positions, some squatting, and some leaning against the large stones; the big one was stretched out like a carthorse in its stall at the end of the day. They made no attempt to speak to her but sometimes made furtive glances in her direction. The scarred man seemed to be in charge of making sure she had food and drink. Nadira had twice heard him called Marcus. He sat closest to her and it was obvious that he had been tasked with her care. Her smallest movement would bring his eyes upon her.
    She smiled at him whenever this happened , but he did not ever change the cast of his face in response. Even as he ate his meal, his eyes lightly touched everything about them; his hands were constantly in motion and his boots tapped the ground. Nadira thought it best to be silent until spoken to. She had discovered that even the smallest sigh would stop conversation and bring all eyes upon her.
    The other man with dark hair was called John. He was missing an ear and seemed to be tasked with helping the boys with the care of the horses.
    Lord Montrose sat with his back against the largest boulder, his elbows on his knees, a piece of bread in one hand and a tin cup in the other. Beside him sat the red-haired one called Alisdair. Montrose was not eating but stared at the ground between his boots. Nadira watched as Alisdair tried unsuccessfully to hand him more food. Montrose drained his cup and Alisdair was quick to fill it again. Still, no words were spoken. Nadira was relieved when Montrose finally stood, flinging his crust to the grass. The sooner they were on the road, the sooner they might stop for the night. Nadira imagined a warm inn with hot food and a bed with no fleas.
    The road followed the river down and they had not yet reached an inn. Late afternoon the men moved off the road some distance into the brush. They picketed the horses and stripped them of their burdens. The largest man spread a saddle blanket down on the high grass and patted it with his hand. Nadira thought he meant for her to sleep on it. She asked “Do you mean for me to sleep here, then?” The imagined inn faded away. There would be no soft bed, with or without fleas. The man smiled and patted it again but made no sound.
    “Garreth will not speak to you, lass,” Alisdair said as he wrenched the heavy saddle from his horse. “Saracens put a dagger up through his throat. Put it right through his neck because he cursed their God.” Garreth indicated a thick scar under his chin with a broad finger.
    Encouraged by the unexpected conversation she asked, “Why didn’t that kill him?”
    “Lass, look at the size of old Garreth there. Saracens are a wicked bunch, but they are small and skinny as a whole. The unfortunate one who stuck the point in never got to slash with it. Garreth put both hands on the bugger’s neck and,” here he made a twisting motion with his hands and a popping noise. Nadira put a hand over her mouth and looked at him with big eyes.
    Alisdair continued, “We all sat around for the good part of the day staring at the bloody hilt before Rob worked up enough courage to pull the damned thing out. Bled like the dickens, too. It took out a big chunk of his tongue, but he’s too big and too