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“Do you want Khaal’s journal now as well?”
“Later. This will keep me busy for a bit. I might even need some help deciphering it as I haven’t practiced this language in a while.”
“How do you even know it?”
“My mentor said a witch should know the language of the ancients even though we only had a few books written in it that survived the flooding.”
“Was it worth the effort?”
“Yes, but only because it had useful tips for a witch. While I would like to dig into this tome as soon as possible, I’d also like to visit Lomar tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to study him. I’ve seen how the curse looks by day. I want to see it at night.”
“We’ll go after the evening meal.” And then in case it wasn’t clear, “Together.”
“Very well. Tomorrow, I’d like to go visit the Lady Frieda. If you could provide me direction?—”
“I’ll take you.”
“I don’t need you accompanying me everywhere. I’m sure you have important warlord duties to attend.”
“This is important. If the Lady has artifacts we can use to defend ourselves, then having me along will be more likely to convince her to hand them over.”
“You mean confiscate.”
“I don’t steal from my people,” was his cold reply.
She cocked her head. “You really aren’t what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?”
“A smelly barbarian. People say the Srayth are wild men who are mad about horses and fight all the time.”
He arched a brow. “Well, we are intense about our steeds and we do like to fight, but I’d hardly call us smelly or barbaric.”
“I’ll grant you smell better than expected, but until your women have more rights, savages you remain. If you’ll excuse me.” She swept off with a swish of her skirts that had him staring long enough his mother returned and slapped his arm.
“No.”
“No what?” he asked, glancing down at her.
“No, you can’t have the witch.”
He really wished his mother hadn’t forbidden it because if there was one thing Kormac couldn’t resist? Defying her wishes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Fionna started reading the moment she shut the door to her room and flopped on the bed. Curiosity demanded she find out why this journal had been hidden, however, it proved slow going. It had been years since she’d learned the language and the sometimes almost ineligible script and the use of symbols she either didn’t recall or had never seen before impeded her progress. Still, she managed to confirm the identity of the writer in the first few pages.
Airiok the Destroyer, the man whom the entity hated. She couldn’t figure out why. The journal acted as a diary, that of a boy who chose fighting rather than following his father’s footsteps working with horses. The first section dealt with him moving into the barracks, and the other fighters mocking his less than impressive name. He spoke of the pain in his muscles as he learned how to wield a sword and spear. His joy at the maid who smiled at him when she refilled his grog. Fionna almost put it aside until she came to a passage that finally showed him leaving Wexkord.
We rode the whole day, and it is not just the horses who are tired. We’ve not been told why we’ve been sent to the mountains to patrol, but I have to wonder if it has to do with the refugeesthat poured into the city a few days ago. No one seems to know why they’ve fled their hamlet. The warlord has them sequestered.
The next few pages had him whining about field life. And to think this man became a hero.
We’ve seen nothing in days. Not even a nice plump rabbit to replace the rations I’m tired of.
