The Long War 03 - The Red Prince Read Online Free PDF Page A

world, but he couldn’t understand what he saw. His eyes were not equipped to translate the vistas of castles, mountains, halls and caverns that his dreams showed him. He saw ethereal roads, arcing through the eldritch sky. He saw patterns and silhouettes colliding together.
    The upper and lower void, the faded pathways, the fragment of R’lyeh, the flesh halls, the dreamlands, the plateaus of Leng, the sea of urges. None of it made sense, but he could see it and it did not drive him mad. He was unique among men. He could perceive beyond the world and keep his mind intact.
    The only thing that made sense was the pull southwards, the desire to find the staircase, the labyrinth and the guardian. Utha believed that he could reach beyond the world – that he was the last being who could do so. He wasn’t given to selflessness, or to follow vague intuitions and dreams, but someone – or something – was summoning him.
    He’d always been an outsider, since before he joined the church, since before he cared about his pale skin and pink eyes. He didn’t belong and he’d always assumed that was his calling from the One God, a part of being infused with death.
    But what his dreams told him was that he didn’t belong because he was not entirely human. If for no other reason than to discover who he was, Utha the Ghost, last old-blood of the Shadow Giants, would walk up the stairs, traverse the labyrinth and defeat the guardian.

CHAPTER 2
    KALE GLENWOOD IN THE DUCHY OF HARAN

    T HE W ALLS OF Ro were an impressive sight to a man who had never been to the western lands of Tor Funweir. The path through the mountains had been easy. It would have been dangerous, but Rham Jas had effortlessly seen off three bandit attacks. Glenwood had given the third group a chance to run, but they’d stubbornly refused to believe that the diminutive Kirin was dangerous.
    The assassin had chosen to ride in the lead for the last few days and had actually stooped to talk to his companion. It seemed that Rham Jas Rami, arguably the most infuriating man he had ever met, was actually looking forward to their arrival in Ro Haran. He’d even spoken at length about his intention to get blisteringly drunk once he’d killed Shilpa the Shadow of Lies. After the events of the last few months Glenwood thought they both deserved it... assuming that for once they weren’t running away from their enemies.
    As they followed the trail down through the mountains, the river lands of Haran came into view. In the valley were clusters of wooden villages where fishermen lived peaceful lives, isolated from the rest of Tor Funweir by the mountain range known as the Walls of Ro.
    They were not yet within sight of the city, but it was no more than a day’s ride away. He had never seen the high banners of Haran, but the heraldry of the red hawk was well known, as were the city garrison, the Hawks.
    ‘Do you think the fishermen will have anything to drink?’ he asked, as the path dropped below the reach of the biting wind that lashed the higher altitudes.
    Rham Jas turned in his saddle with a dubious grin. ‘Goat’s milk, maybe home-brew... nothing worth paying for.’
    ‘Anything worth stealing?’ countered Glenwood.
    ‘There might be some buxom young farmers’ daughters down there,’ said Rham Jas with a chuckle.
    ‘You’re not that charming, Rham Jas.’
    They both laughed at that.
    ‘Where do we go from here?’ asked Glenwood, as the trail grew steeper. ‘From Haran, I mean. Assuming you kill Shilpa with your customary style and grace.’
    ‘Well, we’ll need to tell the duke that his city’s free... assuming he doesn’t kill us on sight... and then it’s off to Ro Weir.’ The Kirin was grinning broadly as he spoke.
    ‘And that Saara woman, yes?’
    ‘That’s the idea,’ replied the assassin. ‘If all goes well, you should be back in Ro Tiris and plying your nefarious trade within a couple of months.’ He patted his companion on the back in