Free The White Mists of Power by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

it.
    He tried to stand up, shook, and collapsed on his knees. He didn’t care. He crawled, feeling the dirt dig into his palms, his legs. His clothing hung in tatters around him, and in more than one place he thought he felt the stickiness of blood.
    As Adric neared the stable, he could smell the richness of hay mingled with horse sweat and manure. Familiar scents, scents of home. Inside, the boy whistled, stopping occasionally to talk to one of the horses. Adric almost crawled in, then hesitated. Everyone else he had met abused him. He didn’t dare trust this boy. Adric couldn’t take another beating. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbling against the dryness, and forced himself to think.
    He had to get the boy out of the stable without closing the doors. Adric’s hand closed around a hard clump of dirt. He tossed it, using all his strength, his arm cracking and tiny shudders of pain jabbing him. The dirt smacked against the far wall of the building beside the stable. Adric leaned forward, his chest burning so badly that he had to concentrate on each breath.
    The whistling stopped. The boy appeared at the stable doors, his face half shrouded in shadow. His hair was blond, with pieces of straw sticking out of it, his clothing too small but clean.
    Adric grabbed another clump of dirt and, willing himself strength, threw it.
    The boy turned at the sound, then walked toward it.
    Adric had to move quickly. He crawled along the dirt, keeping his head turned so that he saw the boy.
    The inside of the stable was warm. The smell of hay, horses, and manure seemed stronger here. Adric found the nearest pile of hay and burrowed into it. The stiff pieces scratched his already wounded body and the hay dust tickled his nose, but he was warm and he was safe, at least for the moment.
    “False scare,” he heard someone say, probably the boy speaking to the horses. The whistling started again, and Adric closed his eyes. His pain throbbed in rhythm with his heart. When the boy left and the light went out, Adric would get himself water, and then he would leave. Until then he would rest.
    He sighed once and shivered as hay rubbed against his wounds. The whistling continued and Adric concentrated on it, following the rise and fall of the song until he fell asleep.
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
    i
     
    Seymour followed Byron’s gaze. Through the crowd Seymour caught a glimpse of a familiar brown and tan uniform, and then saw another. He swallowed and pressed his hands together. He hadn’t seen that uniform since the day Dakin had led him to the hounds. Seymour had thought the next time he saw it, he would die. That feeling was very still very strong. “What do we do?”
    Byron shrugged. “Risk passing him, I guess. Why don’t you wait here? If something happens to me, there’s enough money in that valise to take care of you.”
    Seymour didn’t want to be by himself, especially with stolen merchandise on his arm. “I can’t let you go alone–”
    “We have to go separately. Together we’ll be too conspicuous. I’ll divert his attention and then you run past. We’ll meet at that side street down there.” Byron pointed to a street that veered off behind the retainer.
    Seymour shook his head, about to protest again, when the cries of “Carriage! Carriage!” rose. People scurried aside. A woman pushed against Seymour in her haste, knocking him against Byron. She nodded at Byron, her face flushed, “Sorry, milord,” she said as she passed.
    Byron took Seymour’s arm and led him to the side of the road just as the white carriage rumbled past. Seymour felt the wind from its wheels, smelled the rich leather of its frame. A young boy stood in the carriage’s path, but it didn’t slow. A merchant grabbed the child away just in time.
    The carriage stopped near Lord Dakin’s retainers. The crowd remained near the side of the road, moving forward again but giving the carriage and the retainers a wide berth. The