A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

did not ask. He asked me questions about Illyria.”

I opened my eyes as I heard him say the word. Illyria. There was something familiar in his accent as if I had heard it before.

“He asked if I knew where they kept their…dead.”

I got up from my cot and stepped closer to the opening.

“We know this land well. I told him what I knew.”

I got onto my hands and knees and looked through the hole in the ground. His cell was as dark as mine, but I could see the silhouette of a figure sitting cross-legged at the center of the room facing the door. He was clothed all in white, his skin a remarkable reddish brown. His ear twitched, and he turned his face to the opening. I saw eyes of bright, violent shining back at me. Violet.

“Hello, not-Cyllian,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“You’re Sunemere?”

He looked down, then moved his hands in front of his face. “It appears so. And what of you? What am I to call you?”

“I am… a Ruk and…”

“Yes, yes, I can see you,” he replied. “I meant your...name. What do I call you?”

I considered. “My name is Faerin.”

“Faerin,” he said. “And your house?”

“Just Faerin.”

He let out his strange laugh again. “And its meaning?”

“Meaning?”

“Every name has meaning, Faerin not-Cyllian,” he said.

“I’m not sure it means anything. It’s just a name.”

He snorted. “You can call me Vox. Vox of the House of Vox.”

I nodded. “So that makes you—”

“Yes, I am a… father among my people.” He made an indecipherable gesture with his hands then leaned forward, placing an item against the stone floor. “I am more valuable alive. My people will come. You will see.”

Scrape.

“I might have met them north of here,” I said. “Sorry to say, but they were heading west towards the Marches.”

“Do not be troubled; they will come.”

Scrape.

“You say that with such certainty.”

“Yes,” Vox said. “I am quite certain.”

“Well, I suppose I’m glad I won’t be around for that.”

He turned to me and smiled. His teeth were bright white and perfectly straight, not jagged and crooked like I would expect with other Mere.

“So, how did you come to be here?” I asked. “Were you among the group that attacked the farms?”

Vox shook his head. “There was no… attack. We, my guard, were invited. We were to discuss an alliance, but we were… ambushed by a war-party of Golmere. Their chief could speak to iron. My men were butchered, and I was taken.”

Scrape.

“This chief of theirs, was he…missing an ear?”

Vox turned and blinked, shifting out of his second sight. “You have seen this… creature?”

I smiled. “I killed him two nights ago.”

Vox laughed that strange laugh. “A likely story.”

I shrugged. “What reason would I have to lie?”

“All Cyllians lie.”

“Well, as you know, I am not Cyllian.”

“All Men lie,” he corrected.

“Most certainly. But in this case, I am telling you the truth.”

Vox stood and walked over to the wall. I couldn’t see his face until he kneeled low and pressed his eye to the opening. “How did you do this?” he asked.

“With great effort.” I looked away. “And not without cost.”

“I owe you… gratitude,” Vox said.

I chuckled. “I would say, ‘buy me a beer.’ But seeing as how your people are going to burn this place down looking for you, how about you just let me out and we’ll call it even. Assuming I still have my head attached when they get here.”

Vox looked at me. His face quite still. “On my honor.”

I sat up and stretched my fingers. “So, considering you are here as a result of the prime. I can only assume you are part of his plans as well?”

“Whose plans?”

“Huh? His… the man who was just in here… Monroe, my former lord father.”

Vox went silent.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

“I did not know his name,” he said. “All is clear to me now.”

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

“Sorry, I just assumed you knew. I figured he was the one who invited you just as he did the Seveli.”

“We were…summoned by another. He is a friend to my father, a friend to my people.”

“Who?”

Vox smiled. “Sorry, not-Cyllian. Such words are mine to keep. Many Men have asked; I have held my tongue.”

“Makes no difference to me,” I said. “I was just curious. You folks sure do like your secrets. I wonder what Ada Cole had to do to get that weapon master to share…”

Something clattered on the stone in Vox’s cell. “What did you say?” he asked.

“You’re just a secretive bunch; I mean, you all have histories from before the Fall and…”

“The name. What name did you say?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Cole?”

“Where did you hear that name?”

I laughed. “Sometimes, in the street, sometimes over supper. He is, was my—It’s complicated, but he was my ada.”

Vox pressed his eye against the opening again. “You are the seed of Cole?”

“Yes,” I said. “Not by blood at any rate but in every other way, yes. You could say I am his legacy.”

Vox leaned back and stared at the wall. “He is dead, then?”

“A little over six cycles back.”

“It seems the—” Vox stiffened his ears attenuating towards the sound, “someone comes.”

I heard him shuffling away from the wall. The sound of boots on stone followed. Torchlight filled the window above my door. I glanced over my room, looking for anything that may serve as a weapon. If now was my time to die, I would take at least one more of them with me. The key turned in the lock, and I ran to my cot and kicked at the wooden leg until it broke free. The door swung opened, and I turned to face my executioner, cot-leg-club in hand. An unfamiliar face emerged; he was followed by another who dragged a heavy burlap sack behind him.

“Take off your clothes,” the first man said as he helped his partner pull the sack into the cell.

“What?” I asked, raising my club higher.

“Take them off, Faerin,” came a third voice, one familiar. “We need them and don’t have time to argue.”

The two men stepped forward