Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

His teeth were bared and his fists clenched. Throwing a tantrum with one arm in a sling. I must look a fool.

Gamarron frowned. “Does it mean so little that your tribe sent you with me? That you were promised to be my tracker by the elders who raised you?”

“Why should I care what they want? They threw me out!” He was shouting, and his last words were strangled by a sob. To his shame, tears spilled from his eyes. Passers-by in rich clothing gave them sidelong glances as they passed – two foreigners having a row in the nice part of town. Everyone was too civilized to say anything, of course. Kest hated them, but not a tenth so much as he hated the black-robed savage from the north who now regarded him with compassion.

“Why don’t you stay here and eat something while I go on to the meeting?” Gamarron said softly, gesturing toward the entrance of the fancy tavern. “This is a nice place. It will have good music. Sit and have a meal if you like. I won’t force you. If you’d rather, you can come with me and wait outside the meeting, or you can head back to our inn. You’re in no shape to come to a sensitive meeting. As soon as I’m finished, we can discuss how to proceed.”

Kest looked at the ground, shame and anger locking his throat closed. I’m such an infant. If I were chief, I’d have thrown me out too.

Gamarron put a hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right. Let’s go in and get you something to settle your head, and I’ll come back for you soon.”

The fight went out of Kest like water from a broken bucket, leaving him empty, tired, and still a little drunk. He swayed and nodded his head, not looking at the older man.

Then the hand on his shoulder tightened painfully, and the old monk hissed, “Who is that?” Looking up, he saw the bearded man’s eyes wide with shock as he looked over Kest’s shoulder, his normally ruddy cheeks pale.

Kest turned to look, which made the world sway, but he managed not to fall over or empty his stomach. A richly painted carriage had stopped in front of the inn and was disgorging its occupants. Kest had never seen such fine clothes and perfect hair – it was like watching a dream.

A handful of lordlings were arranging themselves. A young man with light brown skin and straight black hair stood in the center, laughing with each arm draped around a well-dressed companion. All three of them were far drunker than Kest. Each had the same insignia stitched on the breast of his brocaded doublet, though he had no idea what the crossed-keys symbol signified.

No less than half a dozen burly guards attended them, forming a loose semicircle around the trio. They scanned the crowd with hard eyes, hands on lacquered wooden swords. The soldier nearest Kest had massively swollen, veiny arms uncovered to the shoulder. His bear-bone breastplate scarcely fit him. A purplish mass protruded along his back, and tubes connected to the thing were grown into his neck and arms. Kest shuddered. Disgusting.

He had heard of bone warriors before, but it was the first time he’d seen one – they used the symbiotic strength enhancers that the Weavers sold to become fearsome fighters. The stories said they never lived long. The man looked as if he could tear a normal person limb from limb. Another guard bore a shoulder-mounted thorn-thrower. That one made eye contact with him, and Kest was wise enough to look away. These were men looking to make an example of anyone who might cause trouble.

Gamarron was still staring at the group fixedly, which seemed like a bad idea. “He glows,” the older man breathed, entranced.

Kest looked again. No one was glowing. The rich boys were lurching their way into the tavern. A rotund young man he hadn’t noticed before loitered at the rear of the group. He had blonde hair that fell in wavy curls and was dressed in a loose toga of shiny purple. The boys in front tossed comments to him like gemstones. He followed after the lordlings, looking as if he wished to be somewhere else. Yet the others weren’t mocking him; they joked with him like a comrade. He bore a small, twisted smile that might be mistaken for amusement if one didn’t look at his eyes. He doesn’t like them. Is he some flunky, maybe? One of their fellows that’s out of favor? He looked disheveled and tired, his eyes sunken and his face puffy. Those eyes had bright yellow irises. He was the one Gamarron was staring at.

“Glowing?” Kest asked. “What are you talking about?”

Within seconds the party of lords had been ushered inside with their retinue. The musclebound guard gave Gamarron a warning look as he passed by, but the spellbound monk was completely oblivious. He turned to look at the wall of the establishment with undiminished intensity. It was almost as if he were looking through the ship’s hull at the fellow.

Kest gave Gamarron a nudge. “How about that food, old man? Are we going inside?”

He didn’t respond.

Kest pushed him harder. “Hey!”

Gamarron snapped out of his trance suddenly, turning to him with wild eyes. “He has to come with us.”

The sudden change of pace caught Kest flat-footed. “What? Who? That boy you were looking at?”

The crystal at the savage northerner’s forehead glinted in the light of the tavern’s glowpods as he turned back to the wall, looking at it – through it? – with a fervor Kest hadn’t seen from him before. “He is integral to our success.”

Kest gaped at him. “Integral? Why? Who is he?”

Not turning from the wall, his eyes tracking slightly as if following movement, Gamarron said, “I don’t know.”

Kest rubbed the heel of his good hand at his eyes, bringing stars to his vision. “Wait, please. I know I’m not at my best right