The Soulblade's Tale Read Online Free PDF

seeking prophecies of the Frostborn?”
    “Aye,” said Ridmark.
    “Well,” said Joram, “at least let me resupply you from my own pantry.”
    Ridmark lifted an eyebrow. “Dux Licinius might not approve.”
    “He has forgiven you,” said Joram. “He never blamed you for what happened to Aelia.”
    Ridmark said nothing.
    “And if you like,” said Joram, “think of it as repayment. For not beating me black and blue when we were squires, the way Tarrabus and his lot used to do.”
    Ridmark bowed. “If you must.”
    “I insist,” said Joram, clapping his hands. The servants’ door by the dais opened, and a pair of halfling women wearing Joram’s colors entered the hall, carrying a tray of food and drink. They set the tray on the table and bowed. One of the halfling women glanced at Ridmark for a moment, her eyes like disks of amber in her face, and then left with the other servant. He was always struck by how alien and ethereal the halflings looked. 
    “Please,” said Joram, “sit, sit. You’re as lean as a starving wolf.” He grinned. “Though I fear I indulge too much at the table, and must confess to gluttony every week.” 
    “There are worse things,” said Ridmark, sitting across from Joram, “than gluttony. One never knows if there will be food tomorrow.” 
    “A wise man,” said Joram. 
    Ridmark ate. Joram did set a good table. There was bread with honey, dried fruit, and even a few pieces of leathery ham. He listened to Joram discuss his children and the various problems of governing Dun Licinia.
    “Offering me hospitality,” said Ridmark, “will get you in trouble with Tarrabus Carhaine.”
    “Tarrabus Carhaine can…” said Joram, and stopped himself. “I am sworn to the Dux of the Northerland, not the Dux of Caerdracon. If my liege the Dux Gareth Licinius has a problem with my actions, I am sure he will inform me in short order.”
    “It might get you into trouble with your wife,” said Ridmark. “She never did like me.” 
    “That concerns me more,” admitted Joram. “But a knight is supposed to be hospitable. And that duty might cause me more…difficultly, I fear.”
    “Just from me?” said Ridmark. “As soon as we finish, I am returning to the Wilderland. I could very well never return.”
    He had not expected to return the first time. 
    “Not from you,” said Joram. “From a different, more…troublesome guest.”
    “How is he a troublesome guest?” said Ridmark. 
    “I lost him.”
    “Ah.”
    “And the Dux,” said Joram, “will be upset if I cannot get him back.”
    “What kind of guest?” said Ridmark.
    “A dwarf.”
    Ridmark frowned. “A noble from the Three Kingdoms?”
    Joram shook his head. “No. Well, he was at one time, but no longer. This dwarf insisted upon baptism. He joined the Order of Mendicants and became a friar, taking the name of Caius, after Saint Caius of old.”
    Ridmark stopped eating to listen. “A peculiar story. I have been to the Three Kingdoms…”
    Joram blinked. “You have?” 
    Ridmark nodded. “They accept the High King, but they are devoted to the gods of the Deeps, the gods of stone and water and silence. I would not expect a dwarf to enter the Church.”
    “This one has,” said Joram. “Brother Caius came here with the idea to preach to the pagan orc tribes of Vhaluusk and the Wilderland.”
    “A fool notion,” said Ridmark. 
    “He left the town two days ago,” said Joram, “and has not been seen since.”
    “Then he is likely dead,” said Ridmark. “This part of the Northerland is relatively safe, but it is still dangerous to travel alone. And the orcs of the Wilderland pray to the blood gods, and their shamans wield black magic and blood spells. A mendicant who tries to preach the faith to them will find his head upon a spear.”
    “I fear you are correct,” said Joram.
    “And,” said Ridmark, “you want me to find him, don’t you?”
    Joram sighed. “Am I truly so transparent? Of course, you