A Play of Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page B

giving Wainn’s back a surprised look as she stepped close.
    Bannan wrapped his arm around her, holding her slender warmth to the side without the sword, and pressed his face into her hair. “Hearts of my Ancestors,” he prayed silently, then stopped, terrified to have come that close to doubt. “I belong here,” he said instead, aloud. “I belong here and with you, Dearest Heart.”
    “You’re doing the right thing.” Her arms, strong and comforting, wrapped around his waist. “The others are glad you’ll be with them. As am I.” A squeeze, then she slipped away. “After all,” her smile found his heart, “I’ll be here to welcome you home.”
    Home, Bannan thought, almost dizzy with relief. That was the truth. Marrowdell was his home now and, moths and warnings withstanding, nothing would change that.
    He wouldn’t let it.

    A sliver of paper, touched by ink and fingertip . . . a drop of sleep, under the tongue . . .
    And the dream unfolds . . .
    Mean, the room, full of dust and cobwebs, its walls of rough stone and wood black with rot. There’s a shuttered window, curtained by a cloak.
    A pair of lamps light a table spread with documents. A hand shifts them about, points to one.
    Dim figures gather around. Heads shake. A fist comes down. Disagreement.
    A finger pushes the document forward. Insistence.
    The dream falters . . . rebuilds . . .
    It rains silver.
    And eyes glimmer from the dark.

    She’d let him leave. There’d been a heartbeat, an instant, when simply asking would have kept him here, with her. But duty must, when duty calls, as Aunt Sybb would say, and she’d known he should and must go.
    That didn’t make it any easier.
    So, having watched the precious caravan pass out of sight beyond the first bend of the road from Marrowdell, before the last echoes of hoofbeats and fare-thee-well’s faded from the crags, Jenn Nalynn fled before she could change her mind.
    And stop them all.
    She ran through the village and climbed the gate into the commons, past Wainn’s old pony, calling unhappily after his pasture mates, and the cows, half asleep as they chewed their cud in the sun. The far gate was open and the great sows, Satin and Filigree, didn’t look up as she passed, too busy rooting through litter for the last of the acorns. They were as good as a gate, being unwilling to share their treasure with anything else four-footed; their boar, Himself, being the exception, but he dozed in the Treffs’ warm barn with this year’s weanlings.
    The riverside oak rattled its brown withered leaves as Jenn moved through its shade, being an opinionated tree. She didn’t pause. The water of the ford was shin-deep and bitterly cold, ice where it stilled among the brown reed stalks, but she didn’t gasp or slow. Nor was she at all surprised when the path to Bannan’s little farm came faster than it should, because Marrowdell knew where she wanted to be.
    Night’s Edge.
    And with whom.

    In the air, he was death and danger and all things perilous. A dragon, once lord. Almost, not quite, lord again.
    Silly younglings.
    Wisp settled to ground, leaving such pretensions in the chill air. He’d survived his penance. He’d no interest in earning another. Let a new fool rouse dragonblood and stir the cliff holds to battle.
    His jaws gaped in a mirthless grin. Best way to trim the fat.
    The ground was still frozen. He’d picked a sun-touched spot in the meadow, hoping for warmth, but was too early or too late. Late, was his gloomy thought. Marrowdell’s sun waned already. There’d be snow soon. He shivered and snarled.
    Warmth, sudden and welcome. Efflet, winged and clawed and foolishly fond of snow, had left their hedge to cuddle against his withered side. Lifting his head, Wisp hurriedly looked around for any sign of the old kruar. Finding none, he accepted the small beings’ gift with a grateful sigh. Not that they’d be enough to keep him warm in winter.
    Be warm he must. In the cold,