Reign of Shadows by Deborah Chester Read Free Book Online Page A

to
supplement the weak morning light crawling in through the narrow windows.
    A
servant attired in a plain tunic of heavy fawn-colored wool with a narrow band
of dark fur at collar and cuffs stood by to receive them. The servant was
clean-shaven and old. His blue eyes regarded Caelan without expression.
    In
silence the servant led Caelan and the proctors up a staircase. Lamps hung from
brackets on the walls, lighting their way.
    On
the second floor, the air hung heavy with the scents of snow-dampened wool, old
carpets, and crushed borage. The same oppressive silence was to be found here
as every where else. It seemed, as Caelan’s feet moved soundlessly over the
carpet running the full length of the hallway, that all he could hear was the
loud lub-dub of his own heartbeat, growing louder and faster with every step.
    He
swallowed, but his mouth grew no less dry. His confidence wavered, but he
forced himself to keep his shoulders straight and his head high. He was the son
of a master healer without equal in all of Trauland, not some nobody they could
frighten.
    The
servant tapped softly on a heavy door at the very end of the passage. Caelan
heard no response, but the servant opened the door, then stepped aside. Caelan
entered alone, the proctors and servant remaining outside. The door closed quietly
behind him.
    The
Elder sat at his desk, writing on parchment. He did not look up at Caelan’s
entry.
    Sighing,
Caelan looked around. The walls of the office were smooth white plaster, very
austere. Cold northern light from large windows on one side made the room seem
even bleaker. A modest fire hissed and crackled on a small hearth. It failed to
warm the room.
    The
Elder’s desk, fashioned from plain native spruce- wood, held tidy scrolls of
parchment rowed up on one side. His ink stand was carved simply from buta horn,
as was his pen. On the other side of the desk, balancing the harmony, stood a
small triangle, the symbol of severance.
    Finally
the Elder’s pen stopped scratching across the parchment. He read what he had
just written, sanded the ink to dry it, then shook the grains away into a small
receptacle and rolled up the parchment.
    Only
then did he lift his gaze to Caelan. He quirked up one eyebrow, and Caelan
walked forward.
    The
Elder was a thin, white-haired man. His robe was white, indicating the level of
his powers as well as his rank. His face curved in a crescent, ending in a
pointed chin made more prominent by his short white beard. His skin was very
pale, translucent enough to show a faint tracery of veins pulsing at his
temple.
    It
was said that any follower of severance eventually grew progressively paler throughout life,
until the very ancient practitioners were practically transparent. They were
said to die like beams of light, shining bright, then slowly fading as they
finally achieved total severance from life.
    “You
do not answer my question, Novice Caelan E’non,” the Elder said in a displeased
voice.
    Caelan
blinked and realized he’d heard nothing. He flushed. “I’m sorry,” he stammered.
“I did not hear.”
    “It
seems you make a habit of living with your mind unfocused.”
    Caelan
lowered his gaze. He could not protest.
    “You
have caused much trouble since your arrival here last term.”
    Caelan
kept his head bowed. So far, this wasn’t too bad.
    The
Elder’s pale thin hand fluttered over certain of the scrolls on his desk. “These
are lists of your various transgressions, offenses, and errors. They have been
compiled by the masters who have charge of you.”
    Caelan
looked up. “I guess there’s a lot of them.”
    The
Elder’s expression grew even more severe. “This is not a matter of amusement,
Novice Caelan.”
    Caelan
hastily rearranged his own expression. “No, sir.”
    “Nor
pride.”
    “No,
sir.”
    “You
are from one of the finest Traulander families. You have been brought up according
to principles of harmony and perfection. You have been taught severance,