A Flame in Hali Read Online Free PDF Page B

need no charity. Not from you, not from no stink—no king!”
    “Easy there, friend. We’re just trying to help—”
    “I can get home—jus’ fine—on my own.” Eduin rushed for the door before they could stop him.
    A blast of cold, damp air shocked across his face. He fought to keep on his feet, staggered a handful of steps, then collapsed in a tangle. He hauled himself upright, twisting back toward the ale house. A man stood silhouetted against the brightness inside.
    Then the rectangle of yellow light winked into shadow.
    Eduin saw only a few lights, the faint flickering of candles from windows high above, a single torch burning low in the next block. No moons shone, nor any stars. A wind, ice-tipped, sprang up, threatening worse to come.
    Find someplace dry and out of the wind, he urged himself. Then sleep, just sleep . . .
    Half-crawling, half-stumbling, he worked his way toward the guttering torch. The few doors he passed were shut tight. He searched for an archway, an alcove, anything that would provide a little shelter. None appeared, but now it did not really matter. The night was not so very cold. The wind was no more than a little breeze. His body came to rest, all of its own, under an overhanging eave. From the edge of his vision, he watched the torchlight sputter and go out.
    Darkness took him.

    “You there!” Hands dug into his arms, hauling him upright.
    He squinted at the unexpected brilliance. A torch—no, several—no, one—lit the night. One man held it while another dragged him to his feet. He gasped, inhaling the acid reek of vomit. The wind blew in cruel gusts, slicing through his clothing, burning on his skin.
    “Pah!” the man who held him snorted in disgust. “He stinks to heaven!”
    “He’s no gutter rat.” The second man moved closer. “Look at his clothes.”
    Eduin noticed the badges on their cloaks, the swords ready to hand, the polished boots, the precisely trimmed hair.
    City Guards. By Zandru’s seventh hell!
    “He’s just some poor devil who drank more than he could hold,” the second man said, lifting the torch still higher. “We’ll take him inside until he sobers up.”
    “Aye,” replied the first. He twisted Eduin around and pushed him in the direction of the Guard headquarters.
    In an instant of reflex terror, Eduin’s muscles locked.
    The Guard wasn’t expecting resistance. “Here now, you can’t go wandering off on a night like this. You’ll freeze to death!”
    Eduin turned and ran. Somehow, his legs obeyed him. He burst into a pounding run, heading for the shadowed alleys. His only hope was flight, and he clung to it as a lifeline. Years of finding cover, of skulking and hiding, guided him. The Guards shouted for him to stop, but he kept on, staggering around corners, hardly feeling the bite of the wind or the impact when he slammed into a wall.
    Finally, he came to rest at the end of a twisted series of lanes and alleys, some buried to knee-height in refuse and filthy snow. He leaned against a patchstone wall, lungs heaving, ears straining. Moments ticked by, marked by the slowing of his pulse. He heard only normal night sounds, the creak of timbers, the shuffle of a dog nosing in the garbage, the snort and shift of a horse rousing from sleep.
    In only a few minutes, the warmth his body generated during that brief flight faded. He began shivering; he had no cloak or any protection. The wind howled down the alley, eerily like the cry of a giant banshee bird of the heights. It seemed to be hunting him.
    The Guards were right. He would die out here, on a night like this.
    He was still drunk enough to keep off the worst of the compulsion, but not enough to completely befuddle his wits. Leaving the tomblike chill of the alley, he found his bearings. He was not far from the stables where he’d worked. With a little luck, he would be able to sneak inside.
    The side door creaked as he eased it open, but no alarm sounded. The air was warm, laden with the