The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key Read Online Free PDF Page A

too grievous, I trust?”
    Torin bristled at both the assumption and the other’s condescending stare.
    “My lord,” Stephan cut in, “shall I have the cooks begin breakfast?”
    Torin nodded. “I’ll take it in my chambers. If you would be so kind as to draw my bath?” Among everything else, Stephan was pleased to serve as master chamberlain.
    “Of course, my lord,” he replied with a bow.
    “Go with him,” Torin said to Pagus.
    Stephan scowled, but stopped short of refusing the younger one’s assistance. That also was a conversation they’d already had.
    With both seneschal and herald slipping away, Torin turned his full attention back to Rogun. “What can I do for you, General?”
    Rogun stepped forward. With the others gone, his imposing bulk filled the narrow corridor. If he was an imperious man, he had every right to be. Tall, powerfully built, he projected rugged manliness in every way. Even in hisface—from the wide jaw to the broad forehead to the thick mustache hanging down over thin and weathered lips—all seemed as durable and unyielding as mountain stone.
    But with Rogun, looks did not begin to tell the story. He was a fourth-generation soldier whose great-grandfather, Caruth, it was said, once saved the life of the king in battle. As a reward, Caruth was offered a lordship. Caruth refused, asking instead for a promotion within the ranks of the military. His wish was granted, as he was made a lieutenant general. Both his son and grandson had served likewise, in ceremonial fashion if nothing else.
    There was nothing ceremonial with Rogun. Exceeding even his forebears, he had become chief commander of Krynwall’s armies, both the Legion of the Arrow and the more recently instituted Legion of the Sword. Like Stephan, he was a holdover from the days of Sorl and a survivor of Soric’s conquest. During the wizard’s occupation, Rogun alone among Sorl’s chief military officers had been spared, for Soric had seen something in the other worth turning to his advantage. The general had resisted these overtures, unmoved by bribery and uncowed by torture. He had thus been left behind in Krynwall’s dungeons—to be dealt with later—when the wizard had taken the bulk of his mercenary army and gone off to join the Demon Queen.
    The man’s fire was admirable. But once freed, he had quickly become Torin’s staunchest opponent and rival. Alson was a land in chaos—understandable, given all that she’d so recently endured. Rogun had very specific ideas about how to set things aright, and Torin, despite having been accepted as the son of Sorl—or maybe because of this—had been treated from the beginning like no more than an obstacle in the general’s way.
    “I received word this morning of one of our aid caravans being attacked,” the general snapped.
    Perhaps it was only his own insecurities, but to Torin, the man’s tone always seemed rife with accusation, as if he himself were responsible for all of Alson’s ills—this one included.
    “Last I heard, one in five of our missions to the outlying areas has been beset. Unfortunate, yes, but hardly the most pressing matter of state.” Torin did not care for the callousness of his own words, but with Rogun, he knew he must sound stronger than he felt.
    “These were not ordinary bandits,” the general growled. “These were ogres.”
    Torin blinked. “Ogres?”
    “Accompanied by trolls. But the ogres did the most damage.”
    “And you’re sure the reports are accurate?” To Torin’s knowledge, it had been more than a century since either of the creatures now mentioned had been spotted in Alson—or anywhere else in Pentania, for that matter. Naturally there was the occasional sighting by a hunter or trapper come from the high mountains or deep forests—often shared for the price of a drink—but unsurprisingly, none of these claims could ever be confirmed.
    “I would not have troubled Your Highness otherwise.”
    Rogun seldom stooped to