The Emperors Knife Read Online Free PDF

shining.
    â€œIt’s been too long since you last fed your Knife well, hasn’t it, assassin? How many guards in the Red Room? Six? Twelve? That should keep you for some time.”
    Eyul cleared his throat. “There will be a great deal of blood, Your Majesty.”
    â€œYour Majesty,” Tuvaini interjected, “I don’t think the guards—none of them is marked—”
    The emperor swung about as his bodyguards elbowed Eyul out of the way.
    Eyul was shocked by Tuvaini’s audacity in mentioning the marks. He couldn’t see the emperor’s expression, but the stiffness of his stance, the way he balled his hands into fists over and again, told him that the next words would be sharp.
    â€œIf you know something, then come out with it.”
    Tuvaini lowered his chin. “We will question the guards, Your Majesty.”
    Eyul crumpled into his obeisance as the emperor turned towards the doorway. A second later Tuvaini’s forehead banged against the dais. So he did scare you, Vizier. Eyul held his position for twenty breaths. The emperor was light on his feet; only the rustling of the slaves, busy placing another runner, finally signalled to Eyul that he might rise.
    Tuvaini knelt beside the throne. “I will take care of the guards.”
    â€œBut the emperor—”
    â€œTold me to deal with it. He only assumed I’d use you. I need you to go to the Cliffs of Sight.”
    â€œThe hermit.” Eyul shook out his cramped leg.
    â€œWe must learn more about the Carriers.” Tuvaini stood and brushed sand from the sleeve of his robe. Rubbing the grains between his fingers with a disgusted look, he said, “My cousin is marked. Go to the hermit. Ask him.”
    Distant cousin. Eyul held his tongue on that point. “Shall I ask the hermit how to fight the sickness?”
    â€œHave you been paying no attention, fool?” Tuvaini came down the steps and walked towards Eyul. He smelled of coffee and black cardamom. His face was narrow where Beyon’s was wide, his lips thinner, his eyes surrounded by more lines. Still, the family resemblance was there, and the look on the vizier’s face sent a shiver down Eyul’s spine.
    â€œFool,” Tuvaini repeated. “Ask him what it means for the curse to gain an emperor.” The vizier placed a hand over Eyul’s Knife. He spoke the rest in a voice so low that Eyul had to lean close to hear him, close enough to feel the heat of Tuvaini’s breath against his cheek. “If he has an answer, learn it; then kill him.”

    Let them chase me! Mesema knew her steed, better than she knew any human, man or woman, kith or kin. Tumble didn’t have the height of the Rider horses, but he had their stamina, and more besides. He could turn in an arm-span. In the gullies where the Hair Streams cut through the high grass she could lose even the best of her father’s Riders, no matter how many he sent.
    Mesema watched the horseman crest the ridge and ride down the windward slope. At first her anger blinded her: anger at her father, at the Cerani, at their damned prince who couldn’t take a bride from among his own people, anger at the fact they’d sent only one Rider to catch her. But she wiped it from her eyes and looked more closely. She knew few outside the Felt would see it, but this was no Rider; the man and the horse moved separately.
    â€œDung!” Mesema spat into the wind. She cursed her father’s cleverness.
    Banreh couldn’t ride as a Felt. He couldn’t talk to the horse as a man should; his shattered leg left him dumb. To outride Banreh held no honour. To leave him struggling in the gullies would only shame her.
    Mesema rode to the West Ridge. She kept Tumble to a walk, allowing Banreh to close the gap. Even so she reached the ridge before him.
    From the crest Mesema could see a vast swathe of her father’s lands. From mountain to distant mountain the