Jane Fletcher - Lyremouth Chronicles 01 - The Exile And the Sorcerer.pdf - Jane Fletcher - widez2

The Exile

and

The Sorceror

Lyremouth Chronicles Book

One

Jane Fletcher

2006

THE EXILE AND THE SORCEROR

This Trade Paperback Is Published By Bold Strokes Books, Inc., New York, USA

New Revised Edition, February 2006

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S

IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS

ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Credits

Editors: Cindy Cresap and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: J. Barre Greystone

Cover Image: Tobias Brenner (http://www.tobiasbrenner .de/)

Cover Design: J. Barre Greystone

Acknowledgments

Thanks go to everyone at Bold Strokes Books, especially Rad, Stacia and Cindy, for their support,

professionalism and for being great people to work with. I would also like to thank Pam and Ads for

helping with earlier drafts of this novel.

DEDICATION

In memory of my father

Tom Fletcher

the one who first talked me into reading a book that had no pictures.

Part One

The Exile

CHAPTER ONE—A bad joke

Pre-dawn light filtered through chinks in the stone walls, so faint it did little more than hint at the sleeping

figures scattered across the earthen floor. Tevi lay on her side, awake, staring bleakly at nothing. Her thoughts

were tormented by memories of a dozen miserable events over the past month. A hard day's work loomed ahead,

yet sleep eluded her. She felt utterly alone, despite being surrounded by all her family. A pained grimace crossed

Tevi's face at the thought. Her family. She was an enormous disappointment to them. She knew it - how could

she not be? She was an even greater disappointment to herself.

The light strengthened with the passing minutes. Then came the wailing cries of seagulls. Tevi rolled onto her

back. There was no point trying to return to sleep now and, as if hearing her thought, several bodies stirred. A

woman by the hearth sneezed and sat up. Whispered words rippled around the corners of the hall.

"Hey, who's taken my boots?" The first loud voice of the morning. It was Laff - it always was. The question

provoked several retorts, the wittiest of which were greeted with laughter.

Tevi closed her eyes. She did not for a moment think her sister's boots were missing, it was just Laff's excuse to

be noisy and claim everyone's attention. What Tevi never understood was why people were so pleased by her

sister, and so irritated if she tried similar childish ploys herself.

A man stepped over Tevi's legs. She watched him head towards the central hearth, weaving between the shifting

bodies. He knelt and began coaxing the fire back to life. All around, people were getting to their feet, brushing

dust from their clothes, rolling up blankets and sleeping mats. Noise in the hall rose. The double doors at the end

were pushed open. A sudden shaft of daylight glittered on eddies of smoke rolling under the thatched roof.

Tevi turned her head and looked towards the centre of the hall. Laff was standing by the hearth, making a show

of stretching the muscles in her shoulders while teasing the men preparing breakfast and exchanging boisterous

good-mornings with the women. Everyone seemed to like her. It was a trick Tevi had never been able to master.

Did the differences between them mean so much?

It was not their looks. Both were tall, with brown eyes and straight black hair, hacked short. They had small oval

faces, on the bland side of good looking, with thin nose and wide, straight lips. However the similarity ended

with their appearance. Laff was loud and assertive, quick to argue, quick to make friends. Tevi was always

unsure of herself, uncomfortable in company, uninterested in the show of swaggering bravado other women put

so much effort into. 'Weak and soft' were their mother's words to describe Tevi. Maybe, if Laff had been the

firstborn, it would not have mattered that she was always the one to take the lead, but, at nineteen, Tevi was the

elder by two years.

Virtually everyone in the hall was now moving. Tevi sat up and looked around. She was not the last to stand; a

few still slept at the edges of the hall. One couple were lying nearby with their arms around each other. The man

was sprawled lazily on his back. The woman, one of Tevi's many aunts, was up on an elbow looking down on

him. Tevi's movement caught the aunt's notice. For a moment Tevi was subjected to a critical stare before the

aunt bent back to whisper something in her companion's ear. The man's eyes brushed over Tevi as he twisted to

giggle into the aunt's shoulder. Tevi felt a flush start to rise on her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet and hastened

towards the hearth, but she knew she was being over-sensitive. Judging by the noises last night the couple had

plenty of topics to laugh about.

Jane Fletcher - Lyremouth Chronicles 01 - The Exile And the Sorcerer.pdf

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