The Blood King Read Online Free PDF

the council chamber was hung with heavy tapestries, lit by a bank of torches and two fireplaces which were each the length and height of a tall man. Above the long table of dark wood hung two multi-tiered cande-labra, each holding dozens of candles. Even that light did not seem to completely dispel the shadows.
    Despite the roaring fires, Tris shivered as he stepped into the room.
    Four robed Sisters were seated at the table. At the center, facing Tris, was an old woman, cadaver-thin and very wrinkled. He guessed that she was Elam. At her right was an empty seat, and Tris assumed it was for Taru. To the thin woman’s left was another Sister in her middle years with a determined expres-sion.
    Landis? He wondered. With gray short hair and a serious expression, she looked as if an inner dialogue continued the discussion they had over-heard from the hallway.
    At Landis’s left was a younger woman who watched Tris intently. With dark blonde hair pulled back into a plain braid, she looked haggard. Tris guessed this was Alaine, Landis’s assistant. To the right of the empty seat was another young mage, a woman perhaps ten years Tris’s senior, whose lean form and strong arms seemed more fitting for a fighter than a sorceress. Her dark hair was cut short so that it stood up, brush-like, on her head. She seemed to be sizing Tris up like a sergeant-at-arms appraising a new recruit. He had no doubt that she was Theron. The Sisters did not seem to be con-cerned with Carina. She stepped behind him, as if relieved to be overlooked.
    “Worthy Sisters,” Taru said when they stood before the table. “I bring to you Martris Drayke of Margolan, and with him, Carina Jesthrata.”
    “Welcome,” said a figure at the center of the table. “I am Sister Elam,” the old woman said. Her voice was strong, at odds with how she looked, and Tris knew better than to judge a sorceress by her appearance.
    “Do you accept our offer of training?” Elam asked.
    Tris steeled himself. “I accept.”
    Elam smiled mirthlessly, showing yellowed teeth. “As you may know, the Sisterhood does not lightly involve itself in the affairs of kings.”
    At least, not openly, Tris thought.
    From the stony expressions and stiff postures of some at the table, Tris surmised that Elam had greatly understated the amount of discussion that preceded the Sisterhood’s offer of training. He guessed that, at least for some at the table, the argu-ment was not yet over.
    “Taru told me of your training at Westmarch. When you won Mageslayer from the ghost of King Argus, you passed one test.” A “test” Tris had bare-ly survived.
    “If you are to be ready to face Arontala—and possibly, the Obsidian King himself—by the Hawthorn Moon, there is little time,” Elam said. “We don’t train from books. You’ll face a series of trials, not unlike what you encountered with King Argus. Real magic, sent against you with the full strength of our mages. Traps and obstacles that will push your body to its limits. We’ll see just what you’re willing to pay to win back the crown.”
    “If I die here at the citadel, it seems rather point-less,” Tris countered.
    Elam’s smile chilled him in its ruthlessness. “It would be worse for all of us should you confront the Obsidian King and fail. Pain is often the most powerful teacher of all. Your training begins today.”
    AFTER THE MIDDAY bells, Tris was taken to a salle deep in the lower levels of the citadel. Despite Carina’s protests, Taru took the healer in a different direction, promising that Carina would be close at hand if need-ed. Carina gave Tris a wad of rope vine to hold in his cheek, a way to lessen the effect of the wormroot poi-son that could push his magic out of reach. Tris was dressed to skirmish, with a studded leather cuirass and Mageslayer in the scabbard at his belt. Theron was waiting for Tris in the windowless salle. She was nearly his own height. No longer dressed in her council robes, Theron wore