The Iron Ghost by Jen Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

are true, you will have the talents necessary to get past their defences.’
    Frith nodded, thinking of the boiling flames that were only a moment’s thought from his fingers. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’
    ‘Good. Then we have an agreement.’ Tamlyn nodded shortly. ‘How soon can you leave?’
    ‘We’ll need to rest up after the journey we’ve just made,’ said Wydrin. ‘We’ll want to prepare, and get some supplies together as well.’
    ‘Very well.’ Tamlyn gestured to her niece. ‘We have rooms prepared for you. Bors will show you where they are.’ With that she left, marching across the enormous hall without looking back. Nuava gathered up the books and hurried to one of the chambers, casting a curious last look at them before she vanished from sight.
    Tamlyn moved through the dark corridors of the Tower of Waking with her eyes on the polished floor, letting her familiarity with its stones guide her to her destination. She was troubled.
    First, she did not know what to make of the Black Feather Three. If the stories were true, then they had done the impossible and defeated one of the old gods, and the retrieval of one simple rock should present no serious difficulty. But bringing strangers here to solve their own problems felt like a misstep, whatever the Prophet said. Worse than that, it felt like cowardice.
    And then there was the Prophet herself, of course.
    She was working her way gradually upwards now, following flights of dark uneven steps, lit here and there with guttering candles. The Prophet had insisted on being ensconced in the highest room in the tower, so that she might look out across the mountains.
    Thinking of the Prophet, Tamlyn felt a thick rope of worry twist in her stomach, and she swallowed it down. Whatever the Prophet was, she’d been right about everything so far. Whatever she was, she had great wisdom, beyond even that of an Edeian Crafter.
    Tamlyn paused outside the room, taking a few steadying breaths. For some reason she had rushed the last part of the way and now she almost felt giddy. She put her hand up to knock when a soft, young voice called from within.
    ‘Come in, Tamlyn dear.’
    Inside, the room was cosy, or as cosy as any room in the Tower of Waking ever got. The floor was covered in thick, colourful rugs, and huge tapestries covered the bare rock walls. Braziers were dotted here and there, and oil lamps covered several small tables; the Prophet came from a land of endless sun and warm breezes, and they had endeavoured to make the room as comfortable as possible for her. In the middle of the room was an enormous four-poster bed, draped in several layers of thick, white gauze. Tamlyn could just make out the slim figure of the Prophet beyond the curtains, a ghostly shape sitting cross-legged on the bed.
    ‘They’re here, then.’
    Tamlyn cleared her throat and held her hands clasped behind her back. She never felt comfortable in the Prophet’s room. It was probably the heat.
    ‘Yes. They are just as you described. The woman seems eager enough. The lord is cautious, and the knight is downright reluctant.’
    The shadowy figure rocked back and forth slightly, chuckling. ‘Of course, of course. The Black Feather Three, indeed. They are exactly who you need, Tamlyn Nox, Mistress Crafter.’
    Tamlyn shifted her weight, feeling the first trickle of sweat run down her back. Had there been a hint of derision in the Prophet’s voice?
    ‘I hope you are right. Without the Heart-Stone—’
    ‘Yes, yes, without your precious stone your world will end; it is all very tragic. Tell me, do they look well?’
    Tamlyn blinked. ‘I . . . they look well enough to me.’
    ‘And the knight?’
    Tamlyn shrugged, unsure if the Prophet could see such a movement through her curtains. ‘He had a scar on his face and he looks tired, but they have journeyed from far Crosshaven, they are bound to be weary.’ She bit down on her own impatience. ‘Either way, he looks as strong as