The Heir of Night Read Online Free PDF

wanted, and pressed. The panel swung silently back and she felt the cool air from the narrow passage beyond, which led into the maze of spyruns that crisscrossed the keep.
    Malian had discovered the maze long ago and like the Old Keep it had become one of her favorite places. She had scored trails along the different routes with her dagger so that she could find her way by touch, even in the dark. She had never met anyone else traversing its secret ways and so had come to think of it as hers alone. Now she clicked the hidden door closed behind her and moved along the narrow route, her fingers tracing her blazed trail, to enter the library by another concealed door.
    The chamber was disused and dusty, with books and parchments crammed from floor to ceiling around all four walls. The first thing Malian did was light a lamp, which cast a small circle of golden light and threw mysterious shadows over the bookshelves. The library was so rarely used that she was sure that no one else would come in, especially not tonight, but she locked the door into the corridor anyway. She took off her jacket as well and pushed it into the crack between door and floor, because it would only take one overly zealous guard to investigate the light and find her out. Then Doria would scold, and Nesta would frown, and Nhairin would talk sternly about the responsibilities of being Heir. Her father would punish her, too, if they told him, for disobeying those he had set in authority over her. Malian pulled a face and checked the bolts on the inside of the door a second time.
    It took some time to find a book that held any reference to heralds and she judged, from the mildewed cover and archaic hand, that it was very old. She ran her forefinger under the thin, spidery writing, working out the sense of the words, and realized that it must have been written in the early centuries of the Derai arrival on Haarth.
    “As for the peoples beyond the Wall, although diverse in their ways they remain united in their hostility to our Derai Alliance, with its great fortresses and vigilant watch against an enemy that they do not yet perceive. Doubtless, too, they fear our strength on the borders of their own divided realms. Recently, however, they have sought to know more of us, and sent emissaries from the caste or society they call “heralds.” These are of some interest to me, for they are always sent in pairs and function in a form of symbiosis that we cannot yet fathom, but is demonstrated most overtly through their habit of speaking in unison. We wonder, too, about the exact nature of their power, for even the strongest and most subtle of our mindspeakers cannot read them. I find this alarming, but our adepts seem convinced that it is simply that their minds are still alien to us. After all, we have never before encountered another people with powers to match our own
—
except for the Swarm of cursed name, and its minions cannot be termed “people.” Still, I wonder
—
and believe that we must learn more about these heralds.”
    The writing continued, but the remaining entries were all of Derai life on the Wall; eventually the handwriting changed, as though someone else had taken over the record. Heralds were never mentioned again in any detail, although Malian pored over the faded pages and tried several other volumes. It was tedious work and soon she was yawning steadily. Her eyes grew heavy and she kept jerking her headback up after it nodded forward, thinking that she would read just a few more pages and then return to bed.
    Malian woke to pitch darkness, lifting her head from where she had slumped forward over the book, and realized that the lamp must have burned out while she slept. Her heart was fluttering, high and hard in her breast, and the night was pressing in. She strained her ears, but there was nothing to hear, only a silence comprised of musty air and the tiny noises of the library. And then she did hear it, the thing that had roused her