The Last Whisper of the Gods Read Online Free PDF Page A

Visnisk rutting with a whore up in your loft. Clambered down with his breeches off, saddled the horse, then went right back up there. We all need a good fuck now and again, but that lad needs to wait till he be off duty.” On his way out, he announced, “You got another visitor.” To Sorial’s surprise, his mother entered.
    Kara bet Lamanar would have been a great beauty had circumstances favored her with a less harsh life. Even as things were, her natural grace and loveliness shone through the tarnish. Physically, she bore the characteristics of her Syrene heritage. She was short in stature, a full handspan under five feet, with a slim build. Her long, unstyled hair was jet-black and, despite her age of nearly five decades, there were no traces of gray or white. Her features were delicate - the kind a sculptor might delight in replicating. But there was a hardness to her ebony eyes that bespoke of a lifetime’s tribulations and her skin had been darkened to umber by long hours spent in the fields of Sorial’s father’s farm.
    Throughout his life, Sorial and his mother had experienced an uneven relationship, although it was more harmonious than the one between the boy and his father, Lamanar. Sorial’s memories of the time spent living with his parents were hazy and neither Kara nor Lamanar had answered basic questions about his family, such as whether he had brothers or sisters. They were equally mute to queries about their pasts. His father told him such things didn’t concern him. His mother said he would learn the answers when he needed them, whatever that meant.
    While Lamanar tended his fields throughout the year except during the coldest, darkest parts of Winter, Kara worked many jobs. During the busy Planting and Harvest seasons, she helped her husband on the farm. In between, she would do other things, including working in the market as a whore. In Syre, prostitution was considered to be an honorable profession. This gave Sorial cause to wonder whether Lamanar was his true father - something that would explain the man’s coldness toward him. Sorial had taken to visiting his mother when his father was unlikely to be around. Encounters between them were often unpleasant.
    Had Kara’s desire been the only consideration, Sorial would have lived on the farm and worked beside her and Lamanar in the fields. That was not to be. As a result, she saw her son only on those occasions when he visited the farm. In any given year, that might be three or four times, comprising a handful of hours. They were like strangers, their conversations forced and filled with uncomfortable silences. Sorial had tried his best to reconnect with her, and he knew she was desperate to build a lasting bond, but circumstances were against them. After those awkward encounters, he sometimes wondered if a clean break might be best for all involved. He was sure Lamanar would agree.
    “Sorial… are you all right? I didn’t hear about the attack until today or I would have come sooner.”
    He was surprised she had learned about the incident at all; knifings of stableboys typically didn’t reach the town criers’ lips nor did such news filter through the city’s most effective way of transmitting information: word-of-mouth. If a noblewoman muddied the hem of her dress, the gossip would spread like wildfire, but there was considerably less interest in the misfortunes of peasants.
    “It still hurts, but I’m getting better. The healer says I can go back to work tomorrow.”
    “I wish…” she began. Sorial thought he saw tears pooling in her eyes but he couldn’t be sure in the gloom. There was no doubt that her voice caught. “I asked your father if he would consider buying out your final years here. He’s getting old and it's becoming more difficult for him to work the land by himself. You could make a difference. You like farming. You’re good with the earth. I remember that was true even when you were little, always covered in mud