Reign of Shadows Read Online Free PDF

soldiers back with wrinkled
noses.
    “Break
that javelin and throw it away,” one of the men advised in slurred Lingua. “You’ll
never clean lurker stink off it.”
    The
owner of the weapon grimaced, then cursed to the war god Faure. He snapped the
javelin across his knee and tossed it in the ditch.
    Caelan
scrambled to his feet, filled with admiration. “That was as true a throw as
anyone could hope for, sir,” he said in flawless Lingua. “And in the dark, even
finer. Thank you for saving my life.”
    The
four soldiers exchanged glances and hooted with laughter.
    Not
understanding, Caelan stared up at them. His  eagerness for acceptance burned
brightly. It was hard to believe his dream was finally coming true. Already he
felt a part of the group. He had survived danger and been rescued. His eyes
drank in their mail and long daggers, gleaming in the lantern light. Scarred
and tattooed with shocking symbols of blasphemy, their faces looked cruel and
savage, but he didn’t mind. To him, they were heroes.
    “I
thought you Traulanders were afraid of the dark,” the tallest man said. He was
swarthy with an evil-looking pagan tattoo on his cheek. Long plaits of braided
hair hung to his shoulders, and a leather thong kept them back from his face.
He wore a gold ring in one ear. “Comes dark, and the whole populace bolts
indoors like rats into their holes.”
    “Not
the dark,” Caelan said earnestly. “It’s the wind spirits that come in the
darkness.”
    Two
of the soldiers grinned, but one glanced around and fingered a small amulet
hanging from his neck.
    The
tattooed man eyed Caelan a while, then shrugged. “You’d better get home,
sprout. We’ve business, see?”
    “But
I want to join up,” Caelan said.
    The
men laughed again, elbowing each other and shaking their heads.
    Caelan
grinned back, holding himself as straight and as tall as he could. “I’m old
enough and strong,” he said.
    “Aye,
big enough,” the tattooed man agreed.
    Another
man leaned forward. “Best take him to the sergeant, then.”
    A
third man slapped him hard on the shoulder. “You daft? Boy’s run away. Sergeant
won’t join him up.”
    “Please,”
Caelan said anxiously. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
    The
tattooed man was still looking him over. “Well- dressed boy. Good clothes. Warm
and close-woven. You from the town?”
    “Meunch?
Yes,” Caelan lied. He didn’t want them to know he’d run away from school. With
a yank he pulled off the torn remnants of his robe and tossed it away.
    “Takes
money to join up,” the tattooed man said, fingering his earring. His eyes
looked dark and intense over the jagged symbol of Mael on his cheek. “Seven
hundred ducats for a kit.”
    Caelan’s
heart plummeted. It was a fortune. He had nothing but a few coppers in his
pocket.
    “Naw,”
the other one said scornfully. “That’s officer’s kit. This big, strapping lad
ain’t wanting none of that lot.”
    “Why
not? He’s well born.”
    “Take
him to the sergeant,” said the man holding the lantern. He spat near Caelan’s
foot, and Caelan flinched involuntarily.
    “The
sergeant won’t take him.”
    Caelan
frowned, trying to follow their argument. They were staring at him in a
peculiar way he didn’t much like. At some point they had spread out and formed
a circle around him. He swallowed and felt suddenly alone and vulnerable.
    “There
must be something I can do,” he said nervously, eying them. “I’m old enough to
join and strong enough to march.”
    “And
squalling like a baby for its mother when that lurker was after you.”
    The
men roared with laughter. Caelan felt ashamed of his earlier fear now, but
tried not to let it show.
    “How
much you got?” the tattooed man abruptly demanded.
    “Sir?”
    “How
much money you got?”
    Caelan
looked up at their faces. “I—not much.”
    “You
can’t join without buying in,” the man said gruffly. He stepped forward, and
Caelan cringed back. “Hand