Free The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) by K.J. Hargan

Then he rose. “I must see Halldora.”
    “I will go with you,” Garmee Gamee said.
    As Solienth heaved his elderly body, once a massive warrior, through the large doors of the library, Garmee Gamee diligently followed.
    In the streets of New Rogar Li the snow fell heavier as the day dimmed to a close. Workers and messengers hurried to finish their day’s business. Every passing figure was a ghost rimmed with white, faces down, arms huddled.
    “Tell me, great general,” Garmee Gamee said to the old general. “Is it true? The rumors I’ve heard?”
    “What rumors?” Solienth growled without malice.
    “That there is a traitor here in Wealdland,” Garmee Gamee innocently chimed. “They say the Dark Lord of Magic anticipates our every move, so there must be a traitor in our midst.”
    “That’s nonsense,” Solienth grunted.
    “But how can he move so freely about Wealdland?” Garmee Gamee needled. “And, he is building a citadel here under our very noses. How can he be allowed to do this unless someone of our race is aiding him?”
    “I can think of only one man who would be so foolish,” Solienth frowned.
    “I do not mean Apghilis,” Garmee Gamee minced. “Personally, I do not believe the lies about him. He has an army in the north and fights garonds. That is not the mark of a traitor. A traitor sits next to you at dinner, and smiles at you as he slips a knife into your back.”
    “That may be,” Solienth said without caring.
    The two arrived at the red and gold door to the home of Frea and Halldora.
    “How funny,” Garmee Gamee said. “I was just here this afternoon.” The two entered and were announced. Solienth and Garmee Gamee were shown to a comfortable room with expensive, gold embroidered cushions, a large, elaborately designed red carpet, and an impressive fireplace carved of granite, in which crackled a large, comforting fire.
    “It seems I host every leader of every nation today,” Halldora said as she entered, robed in a flowing dress of red and gold, the royal colors of Man, her red hair braided back. She wearily clasped her hands in front. Halldora was the exact image of her daughter, Frea. At only thirty winters, she still had youth and fire in her smile, but her blue eyes held back an inescapable sorrow for her murdered husband, Haergill, King of the Northern Kingdom of Man.
     
    “My dear, Solienth,” she said as she kissed the old warrior. “How may I help the last Glaf soldier?” Halldora said with an honest smile.
    Solienth shifted uncomfortably in his lavish chair. “It’s the boy. Ronenth. He’s troubled. He’s neglecting his studies.”
    “I’m not surprised,” Halldora delicately sat. “He spends every moment here.” She shifted her gaze down in shame. “He burns for my daughter. It is plain. But he also knows she loves only Arnwylf.”
    “Have you tried talking to Frea?” Solienth pled. “Perhaps she could dissuade him, bring him back to his senses.”
    “Oh, she won’t do that,” Garmee Gamee said. “I know young girls. They love to dangle boys like a cat plays with a mangled mouse.”
    Halldora and Solienth stared at Garmee Gamee in polite, shocked disgust.
    “There must be something you can do,” Solienth said to Halldora.
    “I think it best to not meddle in the tangles of young love,” Halldora said with apology.
    “Coming between two lovers is like a civil war, is it not?” Garmee Gamee mused. “Not unlike the war between the Kingdom of Man and the Glafs.”
    “This is nothing like that,” Halldora said.
    “Oh, I think so,” Garmee Gamee said. “The Kingdom of Man ended up with everything and the Glafs, nothing. Just like Frea has everything, and Ronenth has nothing.”
    “That is not true,” Halldora breathed. “Ronenth is his own man.”
    “But Frea has his heart in her hands,” Solienth added. “He is at her mercy.”
    “This is preposterous,” Halldora stood.
    “Will the Northern Kingdom of Man destroy Glafemen again?”