Reign of Shadows by Deborah Chester Read Free Book Online

poison a master or something.
    Wearing
defiance like a cloak, he swaggered out into the corridor with his silent
escort.
    It
was strange walking down the staircase at that hour of morning to find the
place still and empty. The air smelled of peat fires and wood polish. But not
even the serfs were to be seen.
    Caelan
looked around. “Has everyone been confined to quarters?”
    “All,”
said the proctor on his left.
    The
other glided stoically on his right, close by, his staff held out as though to
steer Caelan.
    “But
why?” Caelan asked. He’d never expected to find himself grateful to be talking
to proctors, but even they were better than no one. “What’s going on?”
    The
proctor on his left turned slightly toward him. “None is to look upon a
transgressor.”
    “But—”
    The
proctor on his right lifted its hand. “Silence.”
    They
walked on, pausing only while the proctors unlocked the doors to the building
without touching them. Outside, they paused again, and Caelan heard the bolts
shoot home without being touched by the proctor’s hand. He shivered, feeling
spooked and increasingly nervous about this.
    Caelan
gazed up at a pewter-gray sky, then across the snow-draped expanse of garden
and courtyard. The air lay still, not a whisper of wind stirring the quietness.
The courtyard had been swept of the fresh snow that had fallen in the night,
but it might have been twilight instead of day, for not a soul was to be seen
anywhere.
    I
have vanished, Caelan thought with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold
sinking through his wool robe. They can do anything to me now, and no one will ever
know.
    With
difficulty he forced his alarm away, drawing on his own anger for strength.
This place thrived on fear, using it as a tool, a weapon to coerce the students
into obedience. There was no joy here, no light. Dreams and ambitions faded
into the mind-dulling miasma of hard work, stern threats, and punishment.
    Caelan
refused to let fear conquer him now. He had faced soldiers and lurkers and the
unknown. He had even risked meeting a wind spirit. Yet somehow, the silence
surrounding him now seemed far worse. For courage he sought memories of his
home, E’nonhold, which shone like a refuge in his mind. He thought of days of
unhampered freedom when he’d raced his pony up through the valley pass of the
Cascades and climbed out on top of the glacier. He thought of the cold wind
whipping his hair back from his face and the feathery soft feel of snowflakes
on his eyelashes. He thought of hawking—his version of it, not the swift bloody
sport of the rich. No, to reach out and share identity with the great predator
bird. To feel the rush of wind through its wings. To feel the weightlessness of
its body on the air currents, circling, circling, keen eyes alert. To dive in
one great, swift, heady rush, the earth hurtling straight at him. Then pulling
out seconds before the strike, earthbound and separate once again, gasping with
the forbidden exhilaration of it.
    Ah, sevaisin, the joining. So different
from severance. So
much fun, yet absolutely denied. It was supposed to take years of training
among the Vindicants in order to learn the technique. Caelan didn’t know how he
did it, and he didn’t care. It seemed to be as natural as breathing, unlike severance, which was a strain.
    At
that moment they passed near the gates. He saw no warding key hanging over the
small pass gate. A momentary pang of guilt shot through him, yet at the same time
he had to bite the inside of his lips to keep from grinning. Wonder what old
Master Mygar thought of him now? Who said he couldn’t sever ? He could when he had to. He’d
proven it.
    With
a swagger back in his step, Caelan entered the Elder’s house. The entry was
lined with the burled wood of Carpassian walnut, very rare and costly to
import. No carving adorned it. The lovely grain of the wood was its only
ornamentation. Large oil lamps of plain silver cast a steady illumination