Free The Charnel Prince by Greg Keyes Page A

Ehawk said. His accent was thick, and it was that of someone not used to speaking the king’s tongue. “Hello to you.” He fixed his eyes on Aspar. “I’ve heard of you, Sir Holter. I thought you’d be taller. It’s said your arrows are the size of spears.”
    “I’ve shrunk down for His Grace,” Aspar grunted. “What did you see, boy, and where did you see it?”
    “It in the territory of the Duth ag Pae, near Aghdon. One of the monks—Martyn—heard something. And there they were.”
    “They?”
    “Men and women, but like beasts. They wore nothing; they carried no weapons. They tore up poor Sir Oneu with their bare hands and teeth. A madness was upon them.”
    “Where did they come from?”
    “They were the Duth ag Pae, I’m sure of it. Maybe all of them, except no children. There were old people, though.” He shuddered. “They ate the monks’ flesh as they killed them.”
    “Do you know what might have driven them to madness?”
    “It’s not just them, Sir Holter. As I fled, I came across village after village, all abandoned. I hid in holes and under leaves, but they found my horse and tore her up. I heard them at night, singing songs in no speech of the mountains.”
    “But you escaped them.”
    “Yah. When I left the forest, I left them. I came here because Martyn wished it.”
    “Martyn was one of my most trusted servants,” the praifec amplified, “and very powerful in Mamres.”
    “What sort of madness sweeps whole villages?” Stephen wondered.
    “The old women . . .” Ehawk began; then his voice trailed off.
    “It’s all right, Ehawk,” the praifec said reassuringly. “Speak what you will.”
    “It’s one of the prophecies. They said that when the Etthoroam wakes, he will claim all in the forest for his own.”
    “Etthoroam,” Stephen said. “I’ve seen that name. It’s what your people name the Briar King.”
    Ehawk nodded.
    “Aspar,” Winna murmured. “Colbaely is in the King’s Forest. My father. My family.”
    “Colbaely is far from the country of the Duth ag Pae,” Aspar said.
    “How does that matter, if what this boy says is true?”
    “She has a point,” Stephen said.
    “They are not confined to the depths,” the praifec said. “We’ve had reports of fighting in towns all along the edge of the King’s Forest, at least in the east.”
    “Your Grace, you must pardon me,” Aspar said.
    “For what crime?”
    “Pardon me to leave. I’m the king’s holter. The forest is in my charge. I have to see this for myself.”
    “Yes, to that second point I agree. As to the first—you are no longer the king’s holter.”
    “What?”
    “I petitioned His Majesty to have you placed under my command. I need you, Aspar White. No one knows the forest as you do. You’ve faced the Briar King and lived—not once, but twice.”
    “But he’s been a holter all his life!” Stephen exploded. “Your Grace, you can’t just—!”
    The praifec’s voice was suddenly not soft. “I most certainly can, Brother Darige. I can and I have. And in point of fact, your friend is still a holter—the Church’s holter. What greater honor could he hope for?”
    “But—” Stephen began again.
    “If it’s all the same, Stephen,” Aspar said quietly, “I can speak for myself.”
    “Please do,” the praifec urged.
    He looked the praifec straight in the eye. “I don’t know much about courts or kings or praifecs,” he admitted. “I’m told I have few manners, and those I have are bad ones. But it seems to me, Your Grace, that you might have
asked
me before telling me.”
    Hespero stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Very well. You have a point. I suppose I was letting my anxiety for the people of Crotheny and the greater world muddy my concern for the personal wishes of one man. I can always ask the king to change his decree—so I’ll ask you now.”
    “What exactly is it Your Grace is requesting?”
    “I want you to go to the King’s Forest and discover