Cast of Stones (The Staff and the Sword) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - W. Carr Patrick

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190 pages

English

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2014 Carol Award Winner for SpeculativeThe Fate of the Kingdom Awaits the Cast of StonesIn the backwater village of Callowford, roustabout Errol Stone is enlisted by a church messenger arriving with urgent missives for the hermit priest in the hills. Eager for coin, Errol agrees to what he thinks will be an easy task, but soon finds himself hunted by deadly assassins. Forced to flee with the priest and a small band of travelers, Errol soon learns he's joined a quest that could change the fate of his kingdom.Protected for millennia by the heirs of the first king, the kingdom's dynasty nears its end and the selection of the new king begins--but in secret and shadow. As danger mounts, Errol must leave behind the stains and griefs of the past, learn to fight, and discover who is hunting him and his companions and how far they will go to stop the reading of the stones."With an engaging, imaginative world that bristles with danger, characters that keep you guessing, and a story that sticks with you, A Cast of Stones will keep you devouring pages until the very end. I highly recommend it!" --John W. Otte, author of Failstate"Carr's debut, the first in a series, is assured and up-tempo, with much to enjoy in characterization and description--not least the homely, life-as-lived details." -Publishers WeeklyThis fast-paced fantasy debut set in a medieval world is a winner. Both main and secondary characters are fully drawn and endearing, and Errol's transformation from drunkard to hero is well plotted. Carr is a promising CF author to watch. Fans of epic Christian fantasies will enjoy discovering a new voice. "Like the preceding series title, Inescapable, this tale of suspense offers a colorful cast of characters, small-town drama, and a hint of romance. A sure bet for fans of Hannah Alexander." --Library Journal"[Good fantasy books] have to be excellent. Good storytelling and exceptional characters with circumstances that are easy enough to follow and wrap your brain around but keep you entertained and guessing... Cast of Stones has found itself firmly in that list of books. I absolutely, one hundred percent loved this book." --Radiant Lit

Sujets

Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)

Fantasy

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 février 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441261021
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0259€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2013 by Patrick Carr
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-6102-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Lookout Design, Inc.
Author represented by The Steve Laube Agency
To the three women in my life who made this possible:
Carolyn Carr , for loving me and raising me; Ramona Dabbs , who never failed in her encouragement and believed in me even when I didn’t;
and ever and always, Mary Carr , who brings love and passion to my life and demonstrates every day that she really is God’s gift to me.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1. Errol
2. Sacrament
3. Crimsonweed
4. Tidings
5. The Road from Berea
6. Divisions in the Watch
7. Bound for Erinon
8. Windridge
9. The Cathedral of Windridge
10. Dark Flight
11. The Keralwash
12. Compulsion
13. The Road to Longhollow
14. The Caravan Master
15. Conger’s Tale
16. The Shaping of Wood
17. Naaman’s Tale
18. Night Moves
19. A Change of Plans
20. Lotmaker
21. Climbing the Ladder
22. The Intersection of Probabilities
23. Challenges
24. Familiar Faces
25. The Conclave
26. Adora
27. What Tidings Come
28. Riddles From the Past
29. Tracks
30. Secrets
31. Flight
32. The Need of the Kingdom
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
1 Errol
S MELLS OF EARTH and dung drifted slowly past the fog in Errol’s brain. His skin prickled with cold. Water and ooze soaked his threadbare garments and he shivered. Cruk had thrown him out of the tavern. Again. Hanks of brown hair dripping muck hung across his vision. The ringing of Liam’s hammer just across the street paused, then started again with light tapping blows, as if in laughter.
Cruk smiled down at him without malice. “Next time I’ll carry you out back and throw you in the midden.”
Dizzy from his flight and a little wobbly from drink, Errol picked himself up in stages. He closed his eyes against the glare of the morning sun, sluiced the worst of the mud from his clothes, and rubbed an aching hip. His tongue wandered the crevices of his mouth as he struggled to make it obey his commands. The effort made him reel.
“You didn’t have to kick me so hard.”
Tall, broad-shouldered, and ridiculously strong from long days working in the quarry, Cruk towered over him from his vantage point on the porch. As always, his face put Errol in mind of a sack of potatoes.
Cruk barked once in amusement. “I didn’t, you little runt. If you don’t believe me, then come back here and I’ll have another go at it. If Pater Antil catches you drunk at this hour, you’ll end up back in the stocks.”
Errol darted a glance over his shoulder at the rectory where Callowford’s priest lived, but the curtains still covered the windows and no one stirred. Still, Cruk’s warning made his shoulders twitch with remembered pain. “Do you have any work I can do?” He backed away from the look on the big man’s face. “Away from Cilla and the inn, I mean. I’m hungry.”
“Then stop spending what you earn on ale.” He pointed to Liam, who watched the exchange with a smile on his face. “Why can’t you be more like him?” A heartbeat later, the harsh planes of Cruk’s face softened and his shoulders dropped a fraction as he exhaled in resignation or pity. “Wait here.”
He disappeared into Cilla’s tavern, returned with half a loaf of bread, and tossed it into Errol’s waiting hands. “Come ’round this evening. You can help clean up after dinner. Mind, you stay away from Cilla and her ale.”
Errol bobbed his head in gratitude as he stuffed the bread inside his shirt. He cleared his throat to ask for a small advance on his wages, but the thunder of hooves forestalled him. A man clothed in black robes and riding a dappled horse down the street of their village made for the tavern as though his salvation depended on it. A red armband emblazoned with a scroll and pen marked him as a nuntius, a church messenger crows, they were called. Errol’s hand flexed, and he made the sign to ward off evil without thinking.
“Stop being superstitious, boy,” Cruk said. “They bear messages. Sometimes they take confessions of the dying.” He paused. “That’s not our usual messenger.” His voice ground the words, and his shoulders tensed as if he were about to throw someone else into the mud. “Anders rides a bay.” The horseman neared. “And this rider” his voice caught “is of the first order.”
The horse skidded to a stop, threw its head in protest against the bit, and gave a little hop with its front hooves, splashing fresh mud on Errol in the process.
“Forgive my hindrance, my lord.” Errol’s mouth twisted around the words, and he wrung excess water from the front of his shirt for the second time that day. “I was just leaving.” He straightened and put out one dripping hand to lean against the horse’s shoulder to restore his balance. When he could focus again, he paused to survey the messenger’s face. The blunt nose and lack of cheekbones so different from his own sharper features proclaimed the nuntius’s ancestry as Lugarian, perhaps. Errol stifled a long-familiar stab of disappointment.
The nuntius peered down at him, his face wreathed with disgust. He twitched the reins, and the horse backed away, leaving Errol without his support. He teetered and struggled not to fall. Twisting, he spotted Liam, all eight perfect spans of him, standing a few feet away, his face the picture of innocent expectation. A ray of sunlight reflected off his hair.
Errol tottered away. He didn’t like standing near Liam. They were the same age, and proximity invited comparison.
The church messenger’s face registered his shock and disapproval. “By Deas in heaven, man, are you drunk? It’s not even noon.”
Cruk laughed. “It’s not even ten, my lord. Errol is a man of some talent.”
The messenger’s lips pursed, giving his face a fish-like cast. Urging his horse around the puddle until it stood at the hitching rail, he dismounted and retrieved a thick leather purse from his saddle.
“I’m told there’s a man who lives near here, a priest named Martin Arwitten. I have letters for him that must be delivered today.”
Cruk’s face paled at the mention of the hermit. He took a step toward the messenger with a hand raised, as if trying to ward off a blow. “The king . . . ?”
The stranger shook his head in denial. “Rodran lives.”
Errol slogged out of the mud puddle to tug the churchman’s sleeve. “I can deliver your letters, my lord. I know exactly where Pater Martin’s cabin is.”
The nuntius backed away, inspecting his clothes. “Deliver? Hardly. I only need a guide.” He turned his attention back to Cruk. “A sober guide.” He pointed to Liam. “He can take me.”
Liam smiled, his teeth flashing under his blue eyes, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lord, I owe Knorl another six hours today.” He bowed and returned to his forge.
The nuntius huffed.
Errol drew himself up, brought his eyes up to the level of the churchman’s chin. “I may have had a drink or two this morning, my lord.” He did his best to ignore Cruk’s snort. “But no one knows the gorge as well as I. You can’t take a horse through there.” He gave the dappled mare a pointed glance and let his gaze linger on the legs. “Not if you want to ride her again.”
Cruk gave a grudging nod over the churchman’s shoulder. “He’s got the right of that. If the letters have to be delivered today, the gorge is the only way. Horses don’t go through there, and no one knows the area better than Errol.”
The nuntius drew up, squared his thin shoulders. “Very well, he can guide me on foot.”
“If you wish,” Errol said. “It’s a four-hour hike.” He looked at the churchman, noted the man’s delicate boots, and revised his estimate. “Possibly six. If we hurry, we can be there and back by dark.”
“Dark?” The messenger’s eyes goggled. “I have to be at Benefice Gustin’s by nightfall.”
Cruk shook his head. “Not going to happen. Pater Martin lives on the ridge. It’s surrounded by the roughest terrain, and any man fool enough to rush through it gets a broken leg for his efforts, or worse.”
Warmth blossomed in Errol’s chest as Cruk pointed his direction. “You’ll have to give your letters to him.”
The nuntius barked a laugh. “A drunkard? You want me to give the most important messages in half a century to a drunkard? Look at him; he’s barely a man. Only Deas knows what’s keeping him on his feet.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “How would I know he delivered them?”
Cruk shifted his massive shoulders. “You’re willing to pay, aren’t you?”
The nuntius drew up. “This is a matter of great urgency on behalf of the church. A loyal subject should ”
“Even a loyal subject needs to eat.” Errol kept his expression respectful, barely.
The messenger rounded on him and stopped, staring, his mouth working. Errol watched the man’s gaze start at his head and slide down his frame until it ended at his worn shoes. The man’s eyes narrowed in calculation.
“How will I know you’ve delivered the message?”
Cruk’s amusement resonated from the tavern porch. Liam echoed it from the forge. “You’ll have no need to worry on that account,” Cruk said. “Pater Martin doesn’t stock