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Carvic, Heron Miss Seeton 04 Miss Seeton und der Hexenzauber
[La Maison de la Nuit 04] Rebel P.C. Cast, Kristin Cast
Amanda Kay [The Search 04] The Freedom Search Kai
Charles Mathes [Girl 04] The Girl in the Face of the Clo
Cari Quinn [Love Required 04] No Promises Required [Entangled
Cross, Amanda Kate Fansler 04 Schule fuer hoehere Toechter id
Becca Van [Sugar Creek 04] Prim's Silver Wolves [Siren Men
Carla Neggers [US Marshals 04 Dark Sky (v5.0) (epub)
Carol Ericson [Brody Law 04] The Hill [HI 1523] (epub)
Camp Rock [Second Session 04] Helen Perelman (retail) (epub)

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.Bransen caught it immediately and sent it into a furious spin, twirling it in one hand, working it expertly behind his back and out the other side as he handed it off to his other hand.The old man fell back, throwing his arms up before his face and whining pitifully.No one else made a sound, transfixed by the dazzling maneuvers of this stranger.Up over his head went the broken handle, spinning furiously.The Highwayman brought it down before him and around his right hip, then back out from behind his left hip.Bransen fell into the rhythm of his display; he used the moment of physical concentration to temporarily block out the darkness that filled his mind.Around and around went the staff, then Bransen planted one end solidly on the ground before him.One hand went atop that planted staff.The Highwayman leaped into the air, inverting into a handstand that brought his kicking feet up level with the eyes of any would-be opponents.He landed gracefully in a spin and used that to launch the staff once more into a whirlwind all about him.Bransen’s eyes weren’t even open any longer, as he fell deeper into the trance of physical perfection, deeper into the martial teaching he had devoured in the Book of Jhest his father had penned.What started as a show for the villagers—a clear warning that Bransen hoped would prevent any rash actions leading to injury—had become something more profound and important to the troubled young man, a method of blocking out the ugly world.Bransen’s display went on for many heartbeats, spinning staff, leaping and twisting warrior, swift shifts and breaks in the momentum where Bransen transferred all of his energy into a sudden and brutal stab or swing.When it finally played out, Bransen came up straight, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes—to stare into two-score incredulous faces.“By the gods,” one woman mouthed.“Power,” a young boy whispered, only because he could find no louder voice than that.“Who are ye?” the old woman with the hooked nose asked after catching her breath.“No one who matters, and no one who cares,” Bransen answered, throwing the staff to the ground.“A hungry man begging food and willing to work for it.Nothing more.”“Begging?” a younger woman asked skeptically.She clutched a toddler tight in her arms.“Or threatening to take it if it’s not given?”Bransen looked at her closely, reading the anger on her dirty face.She might have been a pretty girl, once, an attractive young woman with blue eyes and wheat-colored hair.Perhaps once soft and inviting like a place to hide from the world, her hair now lay matted and scraggly, unkempt and uncut.The war had played hard on her; the only sparkle in her eyes was one of hatred, reflected in bloodshot lines and weary bags.There remained no soft lines there, just a sharp and hardened person who had seen and borne too much and eaten too little.Bransen had no answers for her.He gave a helpless little shrug.With a slight bow he turned and started away.“Now where are ye going?” the old man asked behind him.“As far as I need to pass beyond this war.”“But ye ain’t going away hungry!” the old woman declared.Bransen stopped and turned to face her.“No one’s to say that we folk o’ Hooplin Downs let a stranger walk away hungry! Get back here and eat yer stew, and we’ll find some work for ye to pay for it.”“Might start by cutting me a new handle for me fork,” the old man said, and several of the others laughed at that.Not the young woman with the toddler, though.Obviously displeased by the turn of events, she held her young child close and glared at Bransen.He looked back at her curiously, trying to convey a sense of calm, but the glower did not relent.Repairing the pitchfork proved no difficult task, for there were other implements about whose handles had long outlived their specialized heads.With that chore completed quickly, Bransen moved to help where he could, determined to pay back the folk equitably and more for their generosity in these dire times.In truth, it wasn’t much of a stew they shared that night, just a few rotten fish in a cauldron of water with a paltry mix of root vegetables.But to Bransen it tasted like hope itself, a quiet little reminder that many people—perhaps most—were possessed of a kind and generous nature, the one flickering candle in a dark, dark world.Reflecting on that point of light, Bransen silently chastised himself for his gloom and despair.For a moment, just a brief moment, he thought his decision to return to his wife and run away with her incredibly selfish and even petulant.The people of Hooplin Downs didn’t talk while they ate.They all sat solemnly, most staring into the distance as if seeing another, better time.Like so many in Honce, they seemed to be a haunted bunch.Their silence bespoke of great loss and sacrifice, and the manner in which each of them tried to savor every pitiful bite revealed a level of destitution that only reinforced to Bransen how generous they had been in allowing him to share their pittance.Darkness fell and supper ended.The villagers worked together to clean up the common area about the large cook fire.As the meager and downtrodden folk of Hooplin Downs moved about the sputtering flames, Bransen felt he was witnessing the walk of the dead, shambling out of the graveyards and the battlefields toward an uncertain eternity.His heart ached as he considered the condition of the land and the folk, of the misery two selfish lairds had willingly inflicted upon so many undeserving victims.His heart ached the most when he considered how futile his flickering optimism had been.Two men could destroy the world, it seemed, much more easily than an army of well-meaning folk could save or repair it.Bransen sat before the fire for a long while, long past when the others had wandered back to their cabins, staring into the flames as they consumed the twigs and logs.He envisioned the smoke streaming from the logs as the escape of life itself, the inexorable journey toward the realm of death.He took the dark image one step further, seeing the flame as his own hopes and dreams, diminishing to glowing embers and fading fast into the dark reality of a smoky-black night.“I don’t think I have ever seen a man sit so still and quiet for so long,” said a woman, interrupting his communion with the dancing flickers.The edge in that voice, not complimentary, drew him out of his introspection even more than the words themselves.He looked up to see the young mother who had questioned him sharply when he had first entered Hooplin Downs.The toddler stood now in the shadows behind her, which seemed to relieve some of her vulnerability, as was evident in her aggressive stance.“All the work is done,” he answered.“And so is the meal you begged, uh, worked for,” she added, her words dripping in sarcasm.His eyes narrowed.“I did what I could.”The woman snorted.“A young man, very strong and quick, who can fight well.and here you sit, staring into the fire.”That description of his fighting ability tipped her hand.“Your husband is off fighting in the war,” Bransen said softly [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]