Ravens Shadow 02 - Tower Lord Read Online Free PDF Page B

way slowly through the crowd, Al Sorna’s hood drawn close about his face; however, the audience’s gaze was fixed on a wooden stage in the centre of the semicircle. The man on stage was narrow of face and dressed in a shirt of bright red silk with tight-fitting trews of yellow and black, he sang and played a mandolin whilst a woman in a chiffon dress danced. The man’s playing was expert, his voice melodious and pure, but it was the dance that captured Reva’s attention, the grace and precision of the woman’s movements drawing her gaze like a flame-entranced moth. Her bare arms seemed to shine in the torchlight, her eyes, bright and blue behind a chiffon veil . . .
    Reva looked away and closed her eyes, fingernails digging into her palms.
World Father, I call on your forgiveness once more . . .
    “My lover’s hand held soft in mine,” the man in the red shirt sang, the final verse of “Across the Valley.” “Upon her cheek bright tears do shine, To the Beyond I’ll take her smile, Where for her love I’ll wait . . .” He stopped, eyes wide as they caught a figure in the crowd. Reva tracked his gaze, finding it directed straight at Al Sorna’s hooded face. “. . . a while,” the man finished, forcing the words out. The crowd’s applause was quick, despite the stumble.
    “Thank you, my friends!” The mandolin player bowed deeply, raising a hand to the dancer. “The lovely Ellora and I thank you most humbly. Please show your appreciation in the usual manner.” He pointed at the bucket placed at the front of the stage. “And now, dear friends”—the player’s voice dropped a little, his expression becoming grave—“prepare yourselves for our final performance of the night. A tale of high adventure and low treachery, of blood spilled and treasure stolen, prepare yourselves for
The Pirate’s Revenge
!” He threw his arms wide then took the hand of the girl and rushed from the stage, hampered somewhat by a noticeable limp. Two men promptly strode onto the boards, both dressed in a fanciful approximation of Meldenean sailor’s garb.
    “I spy a ship, Captain!” the shorter of the men said when the applause had faded, holding a wooden spyglass to his eye to scan an imaginary horizon. “A Realm vessel, if I’m any judge. Rich plunder to be had, by the gods.”
    “Plunder indeed!” the taller player agreed, a false beard of loose wool covering his chin and a red scarf on his head. “And much blood to spill to sate our gods’ thirst.”
    Al Sorna gave a soft touch to her arm as the two players shared an evil laugh. He inclined his head to the left and she followed as he moved through the crowd, making for a gap between the line of wagons. She was unsurprised to find the mandolin player there, eyes bright in the shadows, drinking in the sight of Al Sorna as he drew back his hood.
    “Sergeant Norin,” he said.
    “My lord,” the man breathed. “I had heard . . . there were rumours, but—”
    Al Sorna moved forward and embraced the man warmly, Reva noting the player’s expression of complete astonishment. “It’s very good to see you, Janril,” Al Sorna said, drawing back. “Very good indeed.”
    ◆ ◆ ◆
    “There are a thousand tales of your death,” the minstrel told Al Sorna over supper. They had been welcomed into the wagon he shared with Ellora. She had exchanged her chiffon dancer’s garb for a plain grey dress and cooked them a meal of stew and dumplings. Reva avoided looking in her direction and concentrated on the food. Al Sorna had introduced her as “Reva, my pretend sister for the next few weeks.” Janril Norin just nodded and told her she was welcome, any curiosity he might have felt about the nature of their relationship carefully hidden.
Soldiers don’t question their commanders,
she thought.
    “And a thousand more of your escape,” Norin went on. “They say you fashioned a mace from your chains with the aid of the Departed and slew your way out of the