The Sunset Warrior - 01 Read Online Free PDF

not even know whether he will be able to talk coherently after what they have subjected him to.’
    There was a warmth in Nirren’s eyes. ‘Be realistic, my friend. I am talking about something that is larger than any one individual. We are all merely pieces. The Freehold is disintegrating before our eyes because of dissension among the Saardin. You are unaffiliated, so perhaps you are not so aware of it, but believe me when I tell you that much work must be done if we are to survive. But right now, no decisions are being made on behalf of the Freehold. You see? They are all too busy scheming to consolidate their power. This will cause our destruction.’
    ‘Perhaps it will be your battle which causes our destruction,’ said Ronin.
    Nirren dropped his arms and made a face. ‘I will not argue with you. I debate with our people at every Spell. I do not come to you for this.’
    He grinned suddenly and gulped down the remainder of his wine. ‘Think on what I have said. I will say nothing further on the subject. I have sufficient trust in you. Agreed?’
    Ronin smiled and shook his head. He thought: When he grins, his enthusiasm is hard to ignore. He made a mock bow. ‘As you wish.’
    Nirren laughed and rose. ‘Good. Then I will be off. I barely have enough time to change. Until Sehna, then.’
    Alone in his quarters, Ronin picked up his untouched wine and sipped it. It was cool and deliriously tart. It could have been brackish water for all he tasted it.
    Sehna. The evening meal. A sacred time. So many traditions, Ronin thought as he entered the Great Hall. And how many generations preceded us, lying now in dust, remembered by the traditions they handed down and nothing else.
    The heat and noise hit him simultaneously, a vast kinetic wave, startling and bright. Continuous random motion. The Great Hall stretched away, its farthest reaches obscured by a haze of fragrant steam and smoke and heat. Long tables with low-backed benches filled with men and women proliferated in precise rows into the distance. Momentarily his hand strayed to his hip. It felt light and strange without the weight of his sword, but weapons of any kind were forbidden at board.
    He moved to the right, then turned and strode down one of the narrow aisles. He wore soft cream-coloured leggings and shirt; no Saardin used that colour. Servers made room for him to pass, lifting huge trays laden with steaming food or tankards of thick ale, flagons of sweet, amber wine. He smelled the mingled aromas of foodstuffs, light perfumes, and thick sweat.
    He came at length to his table and took his accustomed place between Nirren and K’reen. She was deep in conversation with a Bladesman next to her, so that he saw only the dark and shining helmet of her hair. He smelled her perfume. Across the table, Telmis lifted a goblet in silent greeting, and next to him G’fand, a very young, blond man, was busy directing a Server.
    ‘Well, how is our Scholar this Spell?’ Ronin asked him.
    G’fand turned and his blue eyes dropped under Ronin’s gaze. ‘The same, I expect,’ he said softly.
    Nirren laughed. ‘Now what could be the trouble this Cycle—lost one of your ancient manuscripts?’ He laughed again and colour rushed into G’fand’s face. By this time K’reen had turned towards them, and, seeing the young man’s discomfort, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. ‘Pay them no heed, they enjoy teasing you. They think swordsmanship is the most important skill in the Freehold.’
    ‘You have evidence to the contrary, my lady?’ Nirren said formally, and grinned. ‘If so, I should like to hear it.’
    ‘Quiet, you,’ she admonished.
    G’fand said rather stiffly, as if no one would hear him: ‘It is all right. I expect it from him.’
    ‘And not from me?’ Ronin leaned back as a Server filled his plate. He indicated that he wanted wine, not ale.
    G’fand said nothing, his eyes still averted.
    Ronin began to eat, his mind far away. ‘I shall