Wytchfire (Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

palm as a bandage. Then he chose a suitable branch from the fire, wrapped the second strip of cloth at one end, and fashioned a makeshift torch. Though better than nothing, it still smoldered more than it burned.
    He finished gathering his belongings, snatching up the Codex Lotius and sliding it into his satchel. He glanced at the other volume—the one full of laws to which he was no longer bound—but left it where it lay. Then, heading away from both Dagath and Sneed, he hurried off through the trees into the night.

Chapter Two
    Rumors of War

    R owen walked throughout the night, doubtful that Dagath would return so soon but unwilling to face the big man without a suitable weapon. He abandoned his torch when the fire burned almost down to his hand. Supposedly, the Shel’ai’s strange, magical wytchfire burned without consuming fuel. That would come in handy now .
    He remembered his brass-hilted shortsword—all he had left of Kayden—and considered circling back and trying to regain it. He trusted his fighting skills were a match for Dagath’s, though his instincts had already failed him once. Besides, I’m in no shape for a fight.
    Muttering a stream of curses, he continued on. Without his paltry torch, the way was slow going since Rowen had no desire to take a false step in the darkness and break his leg. Blue-black clouds veiled the stars and a sliver of moon. Even the starry swirl that was Armahg’s Eye barely lit the outlines of trees and thickets, all of which roiled with shadows and convinced him that he was about to be confronted by everything from robbers to greatwolves.
    So the sight of dawn cresting the broad, uninhabited hills of the Simurgh Plains brought a sense of relief, despite his exhaustion. Then he stopped and began cursing again. He had traveled mostly blind, hoping he was still heading in the general direction of Lyos. But he had gone farther east than he intended. In fact, he could faintly see the Burnished Way in the distance—a sun-washed span of amethyst water covered in plumes of fog.
    Gods, I’m almost back where I started three days ago… and I don’t even have my damn sword anymore! He shook his head. He wanted to set off at once, but he couldn’t maintain that pace any longer. So he found a tree, put his back to it, and slept.
    He had not slept long before hunger woke him. He searched his satchel but remembered that Dagath and Sneed had eaten what was left of his rations. Rowen scoured the area but saw no fruit trees, not even a stream from which to try and draw a fish, as he had days earlier. He pressed on and spotted a few urusks. Though they were the size of boars, the creatures were slow and docile, using their long snouts to root in the ground for insects. Rowen grimaced. He had practically lived off urusk meat in the Dark Quarter and had not forgotten its sour, acrid taste. I’m not quite desperate enough for that. Not yet.
    He wished he had a bow. Few deer but plenty of wolves roamed these parts. He might fashion a crude spear or another torch to keep regular wolves at bay, but their greatwolf cousins would not be so easily dissuaded.
    He considered a different danger. While the gash on his forehead had come from the blunt force of Dagath’s cudgel, his wounded hand was another matter. He peeled back the strip of cloth he had used to bandage his sliced palm and grimaced at the swollen, bruised flesh. Despite his thirst, he used what little water remained in his waterskin to rinse his hand, cursing himself for not doing so earlier.
    Gods, give me a fever if you have to, but don’t make me have to cut off my own hand. He wondered how he would do so, without a sword. He remembered his razor, shuddered, and hurried on. Who could help him? The clerics of the goddess, Tier’Gothma, were renowned for their ability to treat wounds, but he was unlikely to find any in the few villages between here and Lyos. Besides, most required coin in exchange for their services.
    Gods, is this