The Warrior King (Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

There they discovered that something was subtly wrong with the texture or color, something hard to define. They carried off their bucket to mix more, which left the wizard alone with the girl. Her anger faded and now she looked curious as she stared after them.
    “How did you do that?”
    Instead of answering, Chantmer beckoned her into the shade of the arcades and out of the heavy sun overhead. There, he removed a small packet from his robes and handed it to the girl. “Look, but don’t touch it or breathe too closely.”
    Now Sofiana seemed eager. She gingerly unfolded the scrap of sheepskin to reveal a small pile of what looked like metallic grains of sand. “What is it?”
    “Silver bite,” Chantmer said. “It is quite deadly.”
    “Oh, I know what that is!” she said, eagerly. “My tutor told me all about that. Gustau said—”
    “Really?” Chantmer said. “Your tutor has you learning about poisons? Does the khalifa know this is part of your education?”
    “Why wouldn’t she?” Sofiana frowned. “Anyway, it wasn’t her idea, and it wasn’t Gustau’s either. Everything he wants to teach is boring: dead languages, dusty, boring old treatises on law or stupid politics. Do you know he had me reading about the Aristonian Book of Law? Aristonia doesn’t even exist anymore.” She threw up her hands. “And in the old tongue too!”
    “There’s a good deal to learn from the Book of Law,” Chantmer scolded. “And the old tongue is a beautiful, subtle thing. You would do well to study it.”
    “Boring and pointless.”
    Any emotion, any thought seemed to manifest itself on the child’s face. This might be a problem.
    Sofiana had recently turned thirteen, yet seemed at once much younger and much older than her age. Younger, in that she still had a slender, boyish body at a time when many young girls—especially princesses—would be dressing for their changing body shapes. And younger too, in her manners and sophistication. That came from living with her father, Whelan, on the road for so many years, instead of being raised properly in a noble household.
    But the girl also had a lithe, confident way of carrying herself, like a slightly-built thief or an assassin. She was a deadly shot with the crossbow and had charged into the fray of more than one battle, seemingly fearless. The way she’d confronted Chantmer, like a mouse facing down a lion, proved her bravery.
    “Who do you want me to kill?” she asked as the wizard took the packet and sealed it up again. “That’s why you’re showing me, right? You want me to poison someone.”
    Chantmer smiled. “A moment ago you were talking about killing me. Shouldn’t we at least be friends before I tell you my secret plan?”
    “You’re the one who brought up the poison, not me. Does King Daniel know you’re here?”
    “Not yet, he doesn’t.”
    “If I were you, I’d run away before he finds out. He doesn’t like traitors.”
    “We’ve had a few misunderstandings about the war,” Chantmer said. “But that will be patched up soon. Do you know your friend is here too, that slave boy from Balsalom?”
    She gave a look like she’d just eaten a piece of rotting fish. “He’s not my friend. How could you even think that?”
    “He’s not mine either, but Markal seems to care for him, and since Markal is here, so is Darik.”
    “Markal was really mad at you. I bet he still is.”
    “A little bit,” Chantmer admitted. “But we both have the same enemy, so we must work together.”
    “What about that mud creature you created? It attacked our own side.”
    “Are we going to keep arguing about what happened in the battle? That was months ago. If we’re going to defeat King Toth, we’ll be forced to work together. And you might be forced to work with Darik, as well.”
    Curiosity had gradually been pushing aside the suspicion on her face, but now the latter returned. “You’d better explain.”
    Could he trust the girl not to blurt out