Shadow's Son Read Online Free PDF Page A

intricate silver cross-guard of a cut-and-thrust sword
jutted from his belt. Glints of steel at his wrists, waist, and boots hinted at
other weapons; Ral was notorious for all the hardware he carried.
    "No, we are concluded." His lazy way of talking reminded
Caim of a
dozing cat, always a moment from showing his claws. "I heard you did
quite well up north. Reinard and his bodyguards slain in front of a hun dred witnesses, but not a single person could identify the killer afterward.
Not bad."

    Caim chewed on his tongue. He didn't like discussing his business,
especially where idle ears could overhear. He leaned against the wall of the
stairwell, trying to appear casual.
    "It's done. That's all that matters."
    Ral came down another step. "Exactly, but you should be careful.
There's been a citywide crackdown these past couple days."
    "I saw the display in the square."
    Ral chuckled. Despite his butter-smooth voice, it wasn't a pleasant
sound. "A gang of roof-crawlers got pinched robbing a vicar's home. All
involved were caught and hanged, but not before they tortured his entire
family for the location of a cache of jewels. Word says they even cut off
the youngest boy's fingers and toes."
    A leader of the True Faith, supposedly sworn to vows of poverty and chastity,
keeps a house in High Town with a wife and children, and no one cares to comment. But why should they? Large sins are easily forgotten. It's the little ones that
gnaw at your soul in the lonely hours of the night.
    "Of course," Ral said, "the fops up on Celestial Hill are terrified out
of their wigs that it's another movement toward rebellion."
    Caim nodded, uncomfortably reminded of young Lord Robert. "If
you'll excuse me, I have business of my own with Mathias."
    "I've no time for palaver myself. I'm heading out of town."
    They passed each other on the stairs and Ral turned. "You know,
Caim. It's not fair."
    Caim paused with a foot on the top step. "What isn't?"
    Ral opened his hand and a slender throwing blade appeared, too fast
for the eye to follow. Caim tensed.
    "Here we are," Ral said. "Two of the deadliest men in the city. We should
be running things, lording it up in the palace. It's all wasted on those powdered fools whose only claim is their family name." His eyes lit up as he spoke.
    Caim looked down at the other man without a shred of empathy.
According to the rumors, Ral was a son of privilege who had enjoyed
many a night rutting in Low Town until his inheritance ran out. Then,
broke and desperate, he had weaseled his way into the assassination trade.
He must have found the taste to his liking, because he came back again and again between benders on Silk Street. Knifings in the merchant district in broad daylight, pregnant mistresses found floating in the
harbor-those were Ral's stock in trade.

    What does that make you? A vigilante with bad dreams or a thug just smart
enough to stay one step ahead of the law?
    Searching for a way to end the conversation without giving insult,
Caim decided on brevity. "It is what it is."
    "I suppose so. Farewell, Caim. I'm off to a warmer clime to take care
of some business. We'll talk another time."
    Not if he had any choice in the matter, Caim thought as he climbed
the last step. He was tired. He just wanted to get his money and go home.
Maybe he would take some time off. He approached the only door on the
upper floor, knocked twice, waited a heartbeat, and gave two more
knocks. He opened it without waiting for an invitation.
    If Mathias acted the skinflint with his patrons below, he spared no
expense to make his living space look and feel like a mansion. Overlapping hand-woven carpets covered the floors. Silken arrays embroidered
with eastern-style hunting scenes decorated the walls, hiding the bare
panels underneath. Heavy furniture in glossy hardwoods cluttered the
room, along with marble tables and expensive bronze artwork.
    Mathias came through the archway on the far side of the