Shadow Magic Read Online Free PDF

fast enough if they were. And you don’t have to worry about my family. Mother won’t mind, and if she doesn’t, no one else will, either.”
    “I’ll mind,” Maurin muttered, too low for Har to hear. It was obvious that the young nobleman meant to have his way, however uncomfortable it might make everyone else. And he was right about one thing: Master Goldar would never forgive Maurin if he turned down the opportunity to make a good connection with even a minor Noble House. Maurin resigned himself to a few days of awkward formality, and allowed Har to lead him away.
    At this hour, the streets were full. Peasants, guildsmen, merchants, and Traders jostled visitors and townsfolk alike. A man from Rathane in gaudy robes walked past the deadly, black-clad figure of an assassin from beyond the Mountains of Morravik. Three dark-skinned desert people bargained in loud voices with a man whose accent was Ciaronese.
    And over the cheerfully miscellaneous crowd, above the jumble of homes and shops and inns, loomed Styr Tel. The castle of the Noble House of Brenn looked every inch the border fortress that it was, but the high stone walls that were a reassuring presence to a Trader caravan concerned with raiders and bandits gave an entirely different impression to a mildly unwilling visitor. Maurin could not shake the feeling that he was heading for a prison.
    The castle had been set back from the houses of Brenn, as if to prevent an attack from the upper stories of the homes and shops. Time and custom had made a marketplace of the resulting open area, and the stalls were even busier and more crowded than the city streets. Maurin and Har wove through the merchants and townspeople to the castle gates, ignoring the persuasive calls of the dealers. The guards recognized Har at once, and let him and Maurin through the gate without challenge.
    As they entered the courtyard, Maurin blinked in surprise. The Styr courtyard was a maze of benches, chairs, trunks, and other furnishings. Servants wound among the furniture, carrying buckets and stacks of cloth. Everywhere people were polishing and scrubbing; the air reeked of soap and Mindaran wood-wax. Maurin’s foolish mental visions of dungeons and imprisonment fled, to be replaced by the alarmed thought that at any minute someone would demand help with the cleaning.
    “Har!” someone shouted, and then a tall girl with pale gold braids hanging nearly to her knees ran forward to throw her arms around the young noble. “Har, you’re back!” she exclaimed.
    “Just barely,” laughed Har, swinging her off her feet in a wide circle. “We came straight here as soon as the caravan got in.” He set her gently back on her feet and turned. “Maurin, this is my sister, Alethia.”
    “I am charmed,” Maurin said, bending low over Alethia’s hand. The introduction was nearly unnecessary; there was no mistaking those tilted green eyes and straight black eyebrows. Alethia was clearly Har’s sister.
    Alethia returned his courtesy absently, and linked arms with her brother as they started for the house. “I’m so glad you got back in time for my party,” she said as they mounted the stairs.
    “Party?” Har said with studied blankness.
    Alethia laughed. “You don’t even remember! I’m twenty tomorrow; today is my birth eve.”
    Maurin smothered a grin. When the caravan had stopped in Karlen Gale, Har had spent two precious hours of his free afternoon hunting for exactly the right gift for his sister’s birth eve party, and he had fretted ever since for fear they wouldn’t arrive in time.
    Then Alethia turned to Maurin and added, “You’ll join us, too, won’t you?”
    Caught by surprise, Maurin hesitated. He hadn’t anticipated being asked to any formal feasts…
    “It won’t be more than dinner and songs, really,” Alethia said, almost as if she could read his mind. “But if you’d rather not—”
    “Of course he’ll come,” Har said. “He’s staying for a week, at