The Heir of Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

message must be of considerable importance then, to justify sending a herald pair so far from the cities of the River—but the Derai had their own messenger corps, so the message must also have been sent by an outsider. Malian’s eyes narrowed, full of speculation, for the Derai had few dealings with outsiders.
    She glanced at her father who was listening to Gerenth, his expression courteous but unrevealing. He looked as though he had dismissed the heralds from his mind, although Malian was sure that he had not. Almost against her will, she found her eyes drawn to the gray-clad figures sitting by the fire. They looked ordinary enough as they concentrated on their food, but Malian suspected that appearances were deceiving. As if in answer to her thought, both heralds looked up before she could glance aside. Their eyes met and held hers, keen-edged as lances.
    Malian wanted to wrench her eyes away, except that would suggest she was afraid of the power in their gaze. So she made herself bow instead, a grave inclination of the head that they answered as gravely. Yet Malian could not shake that suggestion of power. She wanted to know more, to speak with them herself—but right now the gathering was calling for Haimyr. The clamor fell into an expectant hush as he rose to his feet.
    Malian—looking from the corner of her eye—saw that even the gray-clad heralds were leaning forward as the minstrel waited, holding the hall in his silence. Then his handtouched the strings and the golden voice soared, sweeping them into the old, old tale of Kerem the Dark Handed and Emeriath of Night. Kerem was one of the elder heroes of the Derai, a solitary hunter and warrior who wreaked great havoc amongst the Swarm and rescued Emeriath from the Maze of Fire. It was a dark story, like all the great hero tales, but with a rare bright ending, for Kerem and Emeriath won clear of the Maze, despite desperate odds.
    Malian found herself caught up in the emotion and power of the tale, even though she had heard it many times before. When it was done, everyone cheered and clapped, calling for more, but Malian found herself yawning. She was tired from her explorations in the Old Keep, and one benefit in being underage was that she need not remain at the feast until the Earl left. Malian caught his eye and he nodded, half raising a hand in salute as she stood up to make her formal bow. Teron said something and her father turned, allowing Malian to slip away while the hall’s attention was focused on Haimyr.
    She did not think that anyone else had noticed her departure, unless it was Asantir, who noticed everything. Yet when she paused by a side door, she saw that both the heralds were watching her, their faces colored by the fire. Again, their light-filled eyes held hers and Malian paused—but a page bowed, offering the heralds more food, and the moment was broken. Malian turned and left the hall.
    Despite her earlier tiredness, Malian could not shake the memory of the heralds’ eyes. She stood quietly while Doria helped her out of the black dress and combed out the cloud of her hair, but her thoughts were busy, circling the puzzle of the gray-clad strangers.
    I should go to the old library, Malian told herself. The records there are bound to hold something about the heralds and their guild.
    She waited patiently after Doria left her, letting the comings and goings in the outer room die away and watching until the last light was extinguished. Eventually, she hearda chorus of gentle snores from the nurse’s chamber and slipped out of bed, pushing a pillow down under the covers so it would seem that she slept—at least so long as the room remained unlit. The legend of Kerem claimed that he could see in the dark, and Malian longed for the same ability as she groped for her clothes, bruising her shins against a chair. She made her way by feel to the back of the room, moving her fingers carefully across the wooden panels until she found the place she