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“All of them?”
“Every single one. When a free mule is given to you, Gibing, you don’t look into its mouth to see its teeth. You just take it.”
“Wise words indeed. Shall I inform Rune and Yutrik of these events as well?”
“No. Not yet. Yutrik will learn in time; Rune shall never hear of this. I know my bastard son. He carries his father’s strength when his sword is in hand, but his mother’s righteous heart when it comes to these matters.”
“As you wish, My King.” Gibing bowed again, then handed the note back to his king and quickly limped away.
Algar’s icy-blue eyes focused on the piece of paper again. What gift the gods had made him. For too long, he had envied the Rhine King. For his wife, his lands, his wealth. This jealousy had turned into a deep hatred over the years. To be the one to bring this mighty man to his knees without having to fight on the battlefield was something that called for an extraordinary gift to the gods—to show his good faith. The kind of sacrifice that had been outlawed by his great-grandfather but had been secretly brought back by Algar’s father.
A human sacrifice.
“Gibing!” Algar shouted after his servant, who had just reached the large door.
“Yes, My King?” He turned, his scarred face twisted in curiosity.
“Help the witch go to one of the towns and find a beggar woman.”
Gibing briefly closed his eyes as if to hide his disapproval but then nodded and bowed.
“Yes, My King.”
“Innocent and young,” King Algar demanded. “The way the witch likes them.”
Bowing once more, Gibing turned. “Yes, My King.”
