Free Harbinger: Fate's Forsaken: Book One by Shae Ford Page B

of coughs, so when Kael dug his
spoon in, he knew to look carefully. Alongside the raspberries and turtle meat
was a number of floating black things. They were about the size of pebbles and
when he used the edge of his spoon to break one open, his worst suspicions were
confirmed: deer droppings.
    He went without
breakfast.
    Marc brought his
lunch, and there was almost more droppings than broth. "Eat up," he
said, shoving it roughly into his chest.
    Kael replied by
emptying the bowl on Marc's boots.
    "So, the
Bow-Breaker is ungrateful,” Marc said, his voice splintered with rage. “Well,
I'm sure the elders won't mind not feeding you." And his boots made a wet
squishing noise as he stomped away.
    Kael made no
mention of it to Amos. He chewed on herbs as he worked to keep his stomach from
growling too loudly, and tried to keep himself busy. Just when he’d resigned
himself to a slow death of starvation, Roland showed up with dinner.
    "I hope you
know the trouble you caused, dumping that stew on Marc," he said as he
handed the bowl over.
    Kael didn't even
mind that it was fish and dandelion — he dug right in.
    "Don't
worry, I got yours from the clean pot."
    The food stuck
to the roof of his mouth. "The clean pot?"
    "Yeah, your
hogshead of a grandfather put blackroot in the others."
    Stew nearly came
out his nose. Dried and powdered, blackroot was useful for all sorts of stomach
ailments. But more than a pinch of it, and a man would likely spend his whole
night in the latrine. And knowing Amos, there'd probably been a good deal more
than a pinch.
    "It'll be
extra work for him, but he says everyone'll just blame it on the cooking."
Roland slung his pack onto the ground and began digging through it. When he
found what he wanted, he glanced over his shoulder before he tugged it free.
"Here."
    In his hand was
a bow. It was a simple short bow, well worn and made of yew. "Roland, you
know I can't —"
    "Oh, sure
you can. What the elders don't know won't kill them. Or better yet, maybe it
will." He grinned and thrust it at him again. "Go on, take it. It was
my great grandfather's — brought it with him from the lowlands when the
King's men chased him up here. I put a new string and grip on it, but the wood
ought to bend nicely."
    Kael couldn't
help himself — he took it. The bow was sturdy and felt good in his hand.
Just above the new grip a number of shallow marks cut into the wood like rungs
on a ladder. He grinned when he saw them.
    Roland’s
ancestors were bandits: wild men who made their living raiding villages all
throughout the Grandforest. Though he refused to talk much about it, Kael
figured out the markings from some of the drawings in the Atlas . A score that was a single line meant his great grandfather
had killed an enemy. The ones cut into an X meant he'd lopped off his head as a
souvenir.
    It was funny to
think a man as kind as Roland had come from such a bloodthirsty family. And
Kael was surprised at how well the bow was made: he pulled on the string and
marveled when it slid easily back to his chin.
    "It's
different having one that's broke in, eh?" Roland was watching him, his
voice getting gruffer by the second. "I was going to give it to ole Tad,
but …"
    But he'd been
killed.
    Both of Roland's
sons had been hunters. Tad was the eldest, and Hammon the youngest. The same
bear had slaughtered them both: a seven-foot tall monster with teeth as long as
a man's finger. Roland was heartbroken when he discovered their mangled bodies,
but he never wept. Instead, he spent five seasons tracking the beast through
the woods, waiting for the perfect shot. And when it came, he struck the bear
in the heart with an arrow.
    Roland later
said that he thought it was the animal in him that gave him strength. He
believed that men once knew the forests as well as the animals, and a little of
that wild spirit was left in every one of them. As the bear lay dying, he said
he saw blood before his eyes and felt nothing as he flung