Free Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) by Dan Avera Page A

influx of cool air that blew in from the west across the Great Lake. In the Pradian flatlands, though, there were only scattered copses of gnarled oaks, clumps of dry grass, and endless swathes of dirt. It did not help that Prado lay in the lowest point of a great bowl that stretched from the foothills in the south to the mountains in the east, and nearly all the way to Farenzo far to the northwest. And now, away from the cooler clay walls of the inn and out among the suffocating press of Pradian peasantry, Will was sweating profusely and wishing with all his might for a pitcher of iced water. The sun-baked stones beneath his feet did nothing to ease his suffering.
    “How does anybody stand this?” he muttered under his breath. “Thank the Void I went without the armor.”
    Miserable as he was, though, he attempted to put it out of his mind for the moment; he had more important things to do. He first made his way toward where he thought he remembered the city hall was, reasoning that perhaps somebody there would be able to help him find Priscilla's family. After all, the endless horde of fabulously wealthy people he had seen at the festival had to be good for something.
    But when the sun was at its zenith and the city at its hottest, he finally gave up. “City officials” apparently meant “rich people who have no idea what they are doing”. Nobody seemed to have a clue as to where he should even begin looking for the family. Will found that slightly ridiculous—it was not as though blonde hair was a common trait anywhere but in the Northlands. Here in Prado the heads swarming about him were comprised entirely of varying shades of brown, with the odd white mane sprinkled in intermittently. One child with curly blonde locks should have stuck out like a sore thumb; it was part of the reason the citizenry found it so easy to recognize Castor, and the Ravens had used his odd trait to their advantage many times before.
    In the end, he went to the closest tavern he could find, defeated for the moment but not indefinitely. He sat at a table and flicked a silver mark at the owner.
    “What'll it be?” the man, a portly fellow with a massive gray beard, asked gruffly.
    “Some water, please,” said Will, “and something cold to eat if you've got it.”
    The man raised an eyebrow, and then both his eyes opened wide. “Why, you're—you're—”
    “Yes,” Will interrupted with a nervous laugh. “But please, don't draw attention to it.” His short stint as a celebrity the night before had given him his fill of fame for awhile. “Please—the food and drink.”
    The man bowed absurdly low, and Will rolled his eyes. “Of course, young master,” the man said, and then he was gone.
    The tavern was dark—a welcome relief after his journey under the painfully bright sun—and its walls, made of the same grey clay that nearly all of the structures in Prado were, kept the place relatively cool. And there were only a few people inside, which was nice, if a bit confusing. Will could not for the life of him understand why anybody would rather be outside in the heat. The murmur of voices in conversation was enough to lull Will, tired from the ordeals of the past few days, almost to sleep.
    “...attacks keep happening,” Will heard one man say in a hushed voice, and suddenly he was wide awake. He turned slightly, the better to hear the conversation. “Everybody says it's bandits,” the man continued, “but I don't think so. It's more of them bastards from Karkash, says I. They're always coming round and making life miserable for us honest folk. Or maybe it's Ainos—I hear from the odd sandman what comes around here that they've been going at it hard of late. Odd, though. I thought they lived far enough away that they wouldn't bother the Faithful. 'Course, it doesn't help that the Clergy won't send any men to fend 'em off even when they're knocking at our front door.”
    “I hear they have a king,” said another man. “The