All the Paths of Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page A

“She was right.”
    “My mother said the same thing,” said Meralda.
    “Your mum?” said Tervis, craning his neck to follow the airship. “Weren’t you born in the palace?”
    Meralda laughed. Tervis stared out, lost in wonders a thousand other cab riders ignored twice a day, every day.
    I wonder, mused Meralda. Should I tell him I was born on a pig farm? Should I tell him the king is a bumbler, the court a refuge for overbred dunderheads, and the Accords are largely an opportunity for the nobles of five nations to come together and drink to excess at their peoples’ expense?
    Another airship, her fans swiveling and whirling, swooped ponderously down and blotted out the sun.
    “Wondrous,” said Tervis.
    Meralda smiled, and said nothing.
     
     
    “Here we are, ladies and thaumaturges,” shouted Angis. “The Tower.”
    Angis pulled his cab to the curb in the circle ’round that looped between Hent Street and the park’s east entrance. The Bellringers stared. No wonder so many painters set up their easels here, thought Meralda.
    The park wall, ten miles of Old Kingdom rough hewn stone ravaged and worn by the passing of centuries, rose a full thirty feet above the well-tended grass of the park. The gargoyles mad king Foon had added in the second century still danced and capered and brooded atop the wall. The age-old tradition of tying ridiculous hats to the most fearsome of the gargoyles was, Meralda saw, still observed by Tirlin’s more daring youngsters. The pair of gargoyles flanking the gate-posts were sporting last year’s fruit-and-feather day hats, and the right-most fellow was wearing a jaunty pink Oaftree scarf.
    Well above and just inside the wall and its gargoyles, the park’s ring of Old Kingdom iron oaks rustled and swayed, like thick green mountain peaks shuffling to and fro against a pale blue sky. Meralda loved the oaks, and though she knew the stories claiming Otrinvion himself planted the seedlings were utter nonsense, she couldn’t help but think those mighty old trees had watched Tirlin for a good portion of its clamorous history.
    “Oh,” said Kervis, and Meralda knew from his face that he wasn’t seeing the wall or the Old Oaks or the line of dancing gargoyles.
    “The captain says it’s haunted,” said Tervis, his eyes upon the Tower. Meralda put her bag in her lap and waited for the guardsman to notice that the cab had stopped.
    “The thaumaturge says it isn’t,” said Meralda. “And she should know better, shouldn’t she?”
    Tervis whirled, groping for the door latch. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Sorry, ma’am.”
    Angis flung open the door from outside. Tervis yelped and would have fallen, had Angis not caught hold of his red uniform collar. “Here, lad,” said Angis. “First thing you’ve got to learn about is doors. See this here? It’s what we city folks call a latch.”
    “Leave him be, Angis,” said Meralda.
    “Aye, Lady,” said Angis, grinning. He reached up, caught Meralda’s black bag, and held her door. “Will you be long, this morning?”
    “Two hours,” she said, stepping out onto the curb. “Then it’s off to the palace.”
    “Got to greet our Eryan guests, aye?”
    “Aye,” said Meralda, wincing at the thought of a long afternoon at court. “But first, I’ve got work to do. Gentlemen?”
    The Bellringers looked down, away from the Tower.
    “That is the Tower,” she said, as Angis tended his ponies. “It’s seven hundred years old. It was built by Otrinvion the Black, himself. You’ve heard the name?”
    The Bellringers nodded in unison.
    “The Tower is central to our history,” she said. “And the Tower has a long and bloody past. War and murder and madness. You’ve heard the stories of King Tornben the Mad? Queen Annabet the Torturer?”
    The Bellringers exchanged glances, and Kervis nodded.
    “The stories are true,” said Meralda. “Documented fact. But I tell you this, gentlemen, and I want you to remember it.” Meralda