Scion of the Wood (Southwind Knights #3) *SAMPLE*

Chapter One, Part 3

Despite his age, the Clerk was quick to notice that Asher was not Devin and that something was amiss. He produced the necessary quill and parchment even before they reached his desk in the Institute entryway.

Asher stood by as Sir Willem delivered the grim report. Finn picked up the story at the point of the Knight’s paralysis, and the Clerk showed no emotion over the lost squire’s gruesome death. It was all a matter of information.

“Devin had a wife,” he said, tucking back his long beard to better browse the papers before him. “And a child.”

“Let me tell them,” Finn said. “Please.”

The Clerk and Knight both looked surprised, but they accepted his somber offer.

“Well met,” the Clerk said. “You prove your heart as well as your strength.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now if you can pluck up the courage to address your non-combat studies, you will arise a Knight to be reckoned with, I am sure.”

Finn blushed, though whether it was from shame or flattery, Asher couldn’t tell. The Clerk turned a coy eye to him. Willem’s report had included Asher’s own dance with the monster.

“And you, my young friend. Now you have survived a manticore as well as a dragon. And a Healer’s apprentice? You have returned to join our ranks, I hope.”

“No, Sir,” Asher said, stepping forward with hands clasped. “Finn was always the warrior. I’m only a messenger. My master sent me to make sure the western road is closed.”

“Did he?” the Clerk mused. “I was under the impression the beast was killed?”

“He thinks there might be”—Asher wasn’t sure what exactly Galen thought—“more dangers in the Wood. He’ll come soon to report for himself.”

“Well,” the Clerk sighed. “Perhaps Galen will explain to the Lord Financier why our most valuable trade route is cut—and to the Young Queen as well.”

The mere mention of Queen Lilian caused Asher’s gut to stir. She loomed over his mind like her tower did the city.

“Galen is right, anyhow,” Sir Willem said. “We must not risk more lives until the road is made safe. The manticore was not born of the Wood.”

“No, indeed,” the Clerk said. “It is a dark omen, but let us say no more until the Queen—” He looked past them, to some commotion down the long entry hall.

Four soldiers, clad in the blue leathers of the gate guard, marched through, prodding forward a pair of worn and weary men. One towered tall, one was stunted short, both built like bricks, dark with dirt and bruises. The taller man sported a thick scar where an ear should have been. The shorter had a heavy limp to his step, and his skin was tanned leather.

Asher knew the face even before it lifted his way. He’d seen it in his dreams every night since leaving Southwind. It belonged to his father, the Farmer.

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