Free Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1) by Alex Barclay Page B

that stirred a longing for sleep. But, when he thought of the sick, the dying and the dead, a chill crawled over him and he moved on. When he reached the foyer, he saw, for the first time, an inscription carved into the stone wall, preserved for almost a century.
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    To the people of Decresian, of Dallen, and beyond.
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    That no sickness, no fear and no death shall divide us.
    Through suffering, may solace be found within these walls.
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    Through healing, joy.
    Through open borders, may we find welcome.
    Through compassion, peace.
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    In fondness and faith,
    King Seward of Decresian
    (in honour of his son, Prince Roxleigh)
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    Oland was struck by a great sadness. King Seward had lost his own beloved son to madness. What solace was there for him to find? Yet still he offered to others the chance to find theirs. Signed ‘In fondness and faith’, like his grandson, King Micah.
    There were men who sought to enrich the lives of others, and those who sought to enrich merely their own. Oland knew who he would rather be. He polished the inscription with his sleeve then made his way around the trunk of the towering oak, discovering a stairwell under which he could rest. But, as soon as he lay down, he felt wide awake to his quest, to his responsibility, and to whatever the next day held, and the day after, and the day after that.
    Despite the bad blood he feared might be coursing through him, despite the fourteen-year shadow of The Craven Lodge, Oland Born vowed to become a man of whom King Micah could be proud. Like the oak tree above him, he had come to life in a dark, forbidding place, and battled now to reach the light.

HE FOLLOWING MORNING, WITH LITTLE SLEEP BEHIND him, Oland woke to a space alight with morning sun. Specks of dust danced in the shafts. As he made his way into the main hall, birds of all colours were circling the top of the oak tree and through the roof the sky was a dense bright blue. As Oland turned away from the glare, through the silver spots that dotted his vision he saw a small shape moving between the lower branches. The monkey, Malben! Persistent Malben. And he was carrying Oland’s bag on his back.
    Oland laughed, and it sounded loud to him, perhaps because of the acoustics, perhaps because it was rare. Malben jumped on him. Oland took hold of the monkey and held him at arm’s length. Malben tilted his head and Oland found himself doing the same. At close quarters, Oland could see that Malben’s eyes, clear and shining, were not brown, but a dark shade of green. His golden grey fur stood in flyaway spikes, but was soft under Oland’s hands. Malben held eye contact with him and Oland could swear his tiny mouth almost smiled.
    â€œIt’s time to go,” said Oland. “As it is time for me to stop talking to a monkey.”
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    The journey to The Falls had to be taken on foot, so they cut through fields and skirted the edges of villages and towns. Oland had decided that the only thing he was prepared to steal was food, though Malben was the better thief. He mostly stayed hidden in Oland’s bag and jumped to the trees whenever he could. Oland missed the comfort of the roof over his head every night. Now, every evening ended with a search for shelter, or the task of building it. He had been wakened by short torrential showers and followed by more of the grey thickening clouds that Terrence, the merchant of misery, had mentioned. As the days dragged on, Oland began to miss even the scant conversation with Arthur Rynish. Unlike food, company could not be stolen. At times, Oland talked to Malben. There were times when he felt he would talk back. They were the times Oland decided to rest.
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    *
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    A week passed before they reached Dallen Falls. Oland had imagined its full glory being unveiled in daylight. Instead, they arrived at nightfall, and he heard the thunderous water before he could see it. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw, against the