When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📕

"Ladies?"

The smaller girl slid off her stool first. Her companion didn't follow right away, instead keeping her seat and staring into the barman's eyes. In that heartbeat of time, Krin's renowned recall for faces finally brought a memory back to mind, solidifying the familiarity he'd felt. He recognized her from many turns of the seasons past, during one of his trips to the Horseshoe. She'd been younger then, a child; she and her brother, both.

Before Ive asked again, the first girl touched the arm of the second, prompting her to follow. She slid off the stool and forced a smile onto her face.

"Delicious, thank you. Our compliments to the cook."

She took one backward step away, her eyes holding Krin's gaze, and her lips moved, formed words making no sound.

Help us.

She turned and followed the others, leaving Krin grasping the dirty bowls, staring after them as the blood drained from his face and his cheeks went cold.

Ive opened the door, waving his charges through with a characteristically grand swing of his arm. The barkeep squinted against the sun streaming through the opening, but didn't move nor speak until it swung closed again. After the latch fell, he set the dishes aside, scooped up the coins left by the weapons merchant, and came out from behind the bar. He blinked to restore his vision, then scanned the tavern until he found the man he searched for sitting at a table by the fireplace. He strode across the room and helped himself to a seat beside him.

"People say you have the fastest horse in town, Gihl."

The fellow pursed his lips, peered at Krin through slitted lids. "Do they?"

"They do. Is it true?"

"I'd put her up against near any nag in the kingdom, I believe."

Krin nodded. "Then I need you to do a thing for me."

Gihl leaned back in his chair, propping it up on two legs. The action made the barkeep cringe—he'd seen too many of his chairs broken when someone overbalanced, but he said nothing. The horse owner wasn't a bad man, but bore the reputation of one who didn't take kindly to sharing his possessions.

"Why the sudden interest in my horse?"

"Because I need your help."

Krin threw Ive's coins on the table, then dug in his own pocket and pulled out five more. He set these beside the others and waited. Gihl lowered the front legs of his chair to the floor and leaned forward, eyes fixed on the money. The barkeep might have accused him of counting it if he thought Gihl guilty of being capable of doing so. After a time long enough to count them several times, the horse owner looked up.

"What is it you need?"

"For you to ride to Draekfarren as fast and as hard as your nag will carry you. Tell them we know where the princess is. Tell them they have to come if she is to live."

XI  Teryk – Shooting Stars

A shooting star streaked across the sky, its ghostly trail of light cutting through Teryk's vision. Of the few fond memories of his father from his youth, one came on an unspoiled night such as this. The two of them stood atop Draekfarren's wall, their faces lifted toward the heavens.

"I see another," young Teryk cried. He'd seen the seasons turn but six times by then, if he recalled.

"And more." The king raised his hand and pointed.

Three more lights chased each other across the darkness, followed by a fourth, a fifth. The prince gasped aloud; he'd never experienced this type of display of nature. Its beauty left him short of breath, but part of him wondered if their being exposed to this might be a poor idea. The things his nanny told him about the stars made him frightened of being outside alone at night. With Erral at his side, he controlled the fear tonight, but worry gnawed at the lining of his belly, nonetheless.

"If you make a wish when you see one, your desire will become truth."

Surprised, Teryk tore his gaze from the light show to stare at the king. Why would the evil stars grant him a wish? His father didn't notice his disbelieving expression.

"Look, another. What will you ask for?"

His mind spun, leaving him nothing for which to wish. "Nanny says the lights in the sky are bad. Goddess put them there because they didn't follow her rules. They're..." He searched his young memory, trying to recall the name she'd given them, but it eluded him. Tiny Gods? No, but similar. "They're mean."

Now the king looked away from the firmament and Teryk wished he'd said nothing. A crease appeared on his father's forehead between his eyes, the way it always did when he became unhappy. The prince cowered in case he should raise his hand, though he didn't know why he should; he'd simply mentioned what Nanny told him.

"What else did she say?" The flat tone of his words formed a perfect reflection of his expression. The combination made Teryk forget any fear he might experience at the pinpricks of lights in the dark.

Small Gods, he remembered. She called them Small Gods.

"She said Goddess was unhappy with the Small Gods and banished them to the sky to keep them from hurting people anymore. That's all."

"Rubbish," the king snapped. "There's no Goddess or Small Gods. They are naught but stories to make scare children. Are you a frightened little child?"

Teryk shook his head—the answer he knew his father wanted. But he realized the words 'frightened little child' most accurately described him. He struggled to keep his knees from trembling, his teeth from chattering, thoughts of Nanny and Small Gods gone from his young mind.

"Priests teach you of gods, not your nanny."

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