Free Blood of War by Remi Michaud Page B

was needed to strategize effectively, and Jurel had anything but a clear mind.
    Narrowing his eyes, Gaven studied his friend over his splay of cards for a moment. “What is it Jurel? You seem distracted.” Then he smirked. “You're playing even worse than usual.”
    Jurel shrugged, turning to look into the flames that hissed quietly in the fireplace. Gaven was his closest friend, his history as a deserted Soldier of God notwithstanding. After forgiving Jurel for his betrayal, brought about by Jurel breaking a vow—tacit though it was—when he had been Gaven's captive that winter, Gaven had become his staunchest ally. He had also come to know Jurel well enough to be able to read the young man's mood like he was an open book.
    Now he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his sandy hair, riveting Jurel with a piercing look. Jurel had never been able to lie to his friend. Not because he couldn't lie if he felt it necessary but because after that first time, he had not been able to lie convincingly to Gaven. And he had vowed that unless his friend's life hung in the balance, he would not lie to him again.
    So, having made up his mind, Jurel shook his head. “It's the book,” he blew out.
    Eyes widened in surprise, Gaven gaped for a moment. “What, you mean you finally read the bloody thing?”
    “Oh yes,” Jurel replied darkly. “I read it. And a fat lot of good it did too.”
    Drawing a card from the top of the deck, Gaven frowned. “Why?”
    Jurel took a moment before answering, then told him about his trip to the library, how everyone within had bolted at the sight of him—“Damned fools,” he muttered, and Gaven laughed—and how he had happened on the book amongst the racks. The feeling of dread he had felt sitting there staring at the ink black cover still sent a shiver crawling up his spine.
    “A hundred and ten pages.” Jurel pointed accusingly at his own copy sitting beside them on the table, glaring at it as though it had committed a crime against his person. “And do you know what? It's a poem. A blasted long bloody gods damned poem !”
    Thunderstruck, Gaven gaped at him. Then he drew in a deep breath, and he started laughing. He laughed so hard, tears were pinched from the corners of his squinted eyes, and he clutched at his ribs, drawing glances from the others in the hall that ranged from curious to disdainful.
    “I don't see what's so bloody funny,” Jurel huffed, offended. Gaven laughed all the harder.
    Finally, as Jurel continued to glare like a wet cat, Gaven's fit subsided. He wiped his face, hiccuping, and took several deep breaths before he could finally answer.
    “So you avoided reading the book for months because you were afraid of what it might tell you and when you finally get the stones to open it, you find nothing but a poem?”
    “That's what I said.” Rather disgruntled at his friend's levity—and more put out because Gaven had started laughing again—Jurel threw his cards on the pile and stood up.
    “It's not funny, damn you,” he cried but Gaven's hilarity was contagious and Jurel lost the bitter battle to keep his own smile hidden.
    “I'm s—sorry, Jurel, but...I—I-” he broke off, laughing again.
    Really, Jurel thought, this was entirely uncalled for.
    “Do you mind so terribly much, Gav,” Jurel pled.
    Wheezing slightly, Gaven waved his hand apologetically. Swallowing convulsively, he took a deep drink of the ale at his elbow before finally sobering.
    “I'm sorry. It's just funny. You've been petrified of reading a poem. So did you get any thing useful out of it?”
    He threw himself back into his chair and raised his hands wide. “Who knows? There was some stuff in there that seems familiar but most of it was just gibberish as far as I could tell. Here,” he said pushing his copy across the table. “Take a look yourself.”
    A heavy silence fell as Gaven opened the book, brow furrowed as he flipped pages, furrowing further as he read. Finally,