Free The Skeleth by Matthew Jobin Page B

are alone, Father.” The second voice sounded young, with a highborn accent to match the first. “What news of his grace, our king?”
    â€œYou leave the king to me, Wulfric my boy.” Lord Wolland’s voice seemed to roll with the easy rhythm of his tread. “Keep your wits on the task before us. Winter seeps across the world; we have time for one lunge, one throw of the dice, then all must wait for spring.”
    Katherine dared to peek into the passage. Two men approached, Lord Wolland and a young knight who was broad of shoulder almost to bursting from his armor. Flecks of spittle clung to the mouth of the horse led by the young knight, a warhorse of masterful size whose stumbling gait spoke of the last heaving lunges of exhaustion.
    â€œThe folk of Rushmeet have shut their gates, barring all passage on the bridges.” Wulfric steered his hard-breathing mount into the stall right next to Indigo’s. “I was received in Quentara with ill humor and much suspicion.”
    â€œGood! I am most glad to hear it.” Lord Wolland sauntered in behind them, and shut the half-height door. “A lesson foryou, my son: It is good to have an enemy who suspects nothing, but it is better still to have an enemy who suspects the wrong thing.”
    Katherine kept her breaths slow and soft. She pressed herself into the corner of the stall. Indigo twitched his nose, then pinned back his ears. He fixed a dark eye in the direction of the nobles, as though he could see right through the wall and despised what he saw.
    Lord Wolland leaned on the rail of the stall, so near to the corner that Katherine could see his elbow protruding into the passage. “I sent you with orders, my boy—have you fulfilled them?”
    Wulfric’s words came at a plodding pace, as though he was weighing up each and every one. “They are fulfilled, Father, though I feel the stain upon my honor for my part in it.”
    â€œYou sat too long at the feet of the bards, my boy!” There sounded the slap of hand on armored shoulder. “You are coming to manhood, and it is time to cast off the fancies of youth. Honor is a tool. You use it to bind your enemy’s sword into his scabbard, while your own blade remains free to hand.”
    Wulfric jingled the harness as he untacked his horse. “Yes, Father. But can we not have our victory another way?”
    â€œAnother lesson, my son: Never rest on chance, when you can reach for certainty.” Lord Wolland’s voice sounded so incongruously plum and cheery that Katherine could hear the smile on his face. “Without the aid of Madam Drake, too much would depend upon taming our good friend Aelfric.”
    â€œAelfric is weak, my lord and father.” Wulfric heaved up the saddle and set it over the rail of the stall. “His lands are lessthan half the size of yours. He would be a fool to oppose us.”
    â€œBut that’s just what he is, my son—a fool. A stiff, steadfast, honorable old fool.” Lord Wolland spoke in indulgent tones, as though describing a dear friend. “This much I know of Aelfric—he is not easily moved, even when he thinks all hope is lost. Indeed, for such a romantic as he, lost causes are the best causes. Why do you think he held up the banner of the Stag in the old wars, right to the bitter end, though it nearly cost him everything?”
    â€œFor honor, Father.”
    Lord Wolland clapped his hands, as though a jester had earned himself supper with his jokes. “Ha! Never mind, my son—for all his honor, Aelfric will break, just as we wish. You see, he has acquired a great weakness in these latter days, one that I intend to exploit for all it is worth.”
    â€œWhat weakness is that, Father?”
    Another slap on the shoulder. “He loves his son.”
    Katherine sidled closer to the door and cast a stealthy glance into the passage. There was no getting past the two men without being