The Cadet of Tildor Read Online Free PDF Page B

Vipers, suggesting an assault on their stronghold in Catar City.” Seaborn winced at a bird’s shrill call, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the noise. “Remember him?”
    Savoy snorted. “I remember you missing a shot by three paces. At least.”
    Seaborn cleared his throat. “Because the bow you made broke, and I landed on the back of my skull.”
    “Yes, well, there was that.” A smile touched Savoy’s face. He uncoiled and came to his feet with a smoothness that his friend could not match. “Most anyone with a decent mind and ties to Atham knows Palan runs the Family. Since when does the Crown entertain criminals’ petitions?”
    Seaborn chuckled. “I challenge you to find one shred of evidence implicating Palan in a crime. Any crime. Until that happens—and it won’t; he’s careful—he’s just another conniving noble and can petition all he wishes. Officially speaking.”
    Savoy sighed. “I suppose I could kill him. Wring some good from this posting.”
    Seaborn tensed and picked up his practice blade. “Renee, could you give us the beach?” A forced smile tried to soften the demand.
    There was nothing to do but bow and trot to the trail. She had been lucky to keep her ground as long as she had. Several paces into the woods, she paused, drew a breath, and ducked behind the foliage. The pounding of her heart threatened to give her away. Seaborn spoke again once she was hidden from view.
    “Some good from this posting? You’re teaching cadets!”
    “A waste of my time and theirs.”
    “Give them a chance. Speaking of which, the girl’s forearm is blue, and double its size. What was her crime?”
    “Attempted suicide.” There was a pause and a rustle of equipment before Savoy spoke again. He sounded annoyed. “Stop scowling, Connor. It works.”
    “Yes, I remember Verin doing it to you. Made you a golden child.”
    “Made me a living child,” said Savoy, then raised his voice. “De Winter! Either don’t eavesdrop or hide better.”
    Swallowing, she sprinted away.

CHAPTER 5
    A cademic Quarter. Palace Court. Mage District. Southwest.
    Of the four sections in Tildor’s capital city, only one was unworthy of a real name.
    Alec blended into southwest Atham, where narrow streets of torn-up cobblestone rarely saw parades of uniformed guard. Here, pickpockets, workmen, children, all went about their business not with the forbidding glamour of the Mage District, or the philosophical wonderings of the Academic Quarter, but with the sharp eyes and skeptical ears of the slums.
    He rounded a corner and walked down Orchard Street, a dirt field on the left and a mesh of shops and drab dwellings on the right. It was evening, but still light, and a gang of barefoot boys chased a ball around the field, sending up clouds of earth and cheer. There were fewer children than usual, but enthusiasm balanced the numbers. One boy leaped into the air flipping head over heels. When he landed on his feet and proclaimed himself the master of a jumping-tumble-of-doom, Alec clapped along with the others.
    Southwest lacked money, not life—just like the small cottage his grandmother raised him in. He doubted his mother ever saw that. When he became a Servant, he’d find her and ask.
    A few yards ahead, a boy stepped out of a shop whose sign proclaimed it a meat market. “Greg says to tell you he’s got fresh pies,” he informed Alec. “You want pies?”
    Alec sighed. Greg must have changed his boys again. “I want corn.”
    The boy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Pies be better. You want pies.”
    Shaking his head, Alec ignored the boy’s dirty look and went inside. Here, several trays of ground meat slop lay on a shelf beyond the customers’ reach. A potbellied butcher in a smeared white apron stood behind the counter. He scrutinized Alec as if they’d never met. Carelessness killed people around here. “Yes?”
    Alec pulled a gold crown from his pocket, twisted it in his fingers, and let the coin