The Wanderer Read Online Free PDF

obrist whispered something to the prince.
    “What? Changing of the guard? Yes, of course, any with duty may leave. If Captain Lockie or her ensign could stay back a moment—I think we are come to the most important part of this whole affair: who were these men, to set themselves against my father?”
    Amidst a general movement, the room greatly emptied. Jehane and Gael remained by their settle as Master de Reece announced a break in the proceedings. There was time for the retiring room, and drinks of ale were passed around. When they all came together again, it was like a roundtable gathering; all the witnesses were seated, as well as de Reece and the scribes.
    The ensign of the Sword Lilies was questioned first. She had seen two men running off. Yes, she had seen their faces. The men were tall, but she could not swear they were men of Mel’Nir. She thought one was older than the other. They wore trews or trunkhose and perhaps their cloaks were green. One had a close hood.
    Reeve Mentle sat beside de Reece and gave his testimony directly and quietly to the scribes and it was taken down.
    “Just so,” said Master de Reece. “So now it is the turn of the two recruits from Coombe.”
    A glance passed between him and Hem Duro.
    “Kedran Maddoc,” said Duro, his pleasant voice sharpening just a little, “what made you pursue these men? How did they first come to your notice?”
    It was a question she had put to herself ever since the attack, and there was no answer that would serve but the truth.
    “Highness,” she said, “I had some kind of foreshadowing. I suddenly knew that there was danger, there to my right among the crowd.”
    “Have you ever practiced magic?” he pursued. “Do you know anyone, man or woman, who could be described as a magician?”
    “No, Highness!” said Gael Maddoc firmly. “But we are Chyrian folk in the village of Coombe.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “We have our own natural magic, from the Goddess.”
    Hem Duro shook his head, as if to say “worse and worse.”
    Jehane Vey spoke up:
    “Highness, I am Jehane Vey, of the Forest Hall, in Veyna hamlet, and my granddam is Fion Allrada, a lady of the half-Shee. She is known for her wisdom and it might be called natural magic.”
    Hem Duro turned to de Reece with a questioning look and the Head Scribe said evenly:
    “This lady is known as a local wise woman, Highness …”
    Duro, seeming satisfied, turned again to Gael Maddoc.
    “And your family, Kedran?”
    Gael had no hall to claim, and she found her cheeks burning at the form of the prince’s question. “My family have always lived at Holywell Croft, by deed and by custom, as our own Reeve Oghal would bear witness. We have the care of the holy well, in its sacred grotto.”
    “The Well of Coombe,” de Reece interjected softly. “Yes, then this witch-sight you carry cannot be surprising. Your family bears an ancient troth.” He glanced at Hem Duro. “Older than Coombe itself, if truth be told.”
    While Gael had heard some such tale told enough times in Coombe village, it came as some surprise to know that a scribe from so mighty—and distant—a city as Krail might share any knowledge of her family’s humble crofting.
    “Do you know anything about the Westlings, Kedran Maddoc?” inquired Hem Duro.
    “Yes, surely, Highness,” she replied eagerly, “I have been told this tale. Our great hero of Coombe village, General Yorath, raised the first muster of Chyrian folk to serve Val’Nur, during the Great King’s War. The siege of this same fortress, Hackestell, was broken by the Chyrian horde …”
    “Who told you this tale?” he demanded.
    “I did, Highness!” said a voice. “Pray you have mercy on my good recruits!”
    Druda Strawn had come in silently. Now he walked forward and bowed to the prince. His sharp dark gaze took in the whole table round of witnesses and questioners. Gael Maddoc knew that she saw a man absolutely unafraid in this company.
    “Of