The Margrave Read Online Free PDF Page A

Galen. Back to back, they faced the things. There were hundreds of them; slinking out of the rocks, dropping from bushes, squatting in the ravine. Glancing up, Raffi saw the Sekoi with one spindly arm around the old woman; she seemed stunned, clutching at its fur.
    Galen said, “When they attack . . .”
    “I don’t know! I don’t know if I can!”
    “You can,” the keeper growled. “Just be ready.” From all sides the night crawled; the shadow-things swarmed over each other, their only sound a rasping, hoarse breathing, a leathery, terrifying sound. At his back, Raffi felt the keeper tense, drag energies from the broken hills, streams, the tangled whiplash bushes. His very being altered, became remote and strange and dark. When he laughed, his voice was the crackling harshness of the Crow.
    The things stopped, suddenly wary, almost at Raffi’s feet. It was too late. The night exploded in their faces.

4
    Long after my death, what I have begun will continue.
    Creatures I could never guess at will be bred.
    Horrors I never wanted will be unleashed.
    And I will be blamed.
     
    Sorrows of Kest
    “R AFFI?” THE SEKOI WAS CROUCHED, looking at him, its yellow eyes sharp in the flame light. “Come closer to the fire,” it said kindly. And then, severely to Galen, “This boy is still in shock.”
    “He’s not the only one.” Galen’s face was edged with firelight, the small cuts on his forehead and neck still oozing. He wrapped the blanket around the old woman and pressed the cup into her hands. “Drink all of it.”
    She obeyed him, silent, her eyes never leaving his face. Raffi felt confused. As the Sekoi sat him near the crackling fire he realized he couldn’t remember it being kindled, and looked around in sudden fear. There were no rocks. This was a wooded place, green and dark. Mountain ridges rose high above them on each side. Somewhere near, a cold trickle of water cooled his mind.
    “You must drink some too,” the creature said. “Galen, I really think there should have been more warning. His wits are totally scattered, and it was a miracle the ledge held long enough for me to leap from it.” Its seven fingers pushed a cup into Raffi’s; he drank thirstily. The water seemed to wake parts of him. He remembered walking now, stumbling along with the Sekoi propping him up, Galen carrying the old woman until she insisted on making her own way. For hours. Or only minutes?
    His chest and ribs ached, and it hurt to breathe. Somehow he felt deaf, though he could hear perfectly well; his mind was numb, sore to use, and some great echoing crash was still going on fathoms deep inside him, over and over.
    “What did you do?” he mumbled.
    Galen glared at him. “What I need not have done if the net had been well made! Or held tight. Of all the scholars I could have chosen in Anara I had to choose you!”
    “Not now,” the Sekoi said mildly. “Let him be.”
    “We could have been killed!”
    “But we weren’t. Thanks to the Makers.”
    Galen gave it a sour stare.
    “I’m sorry.” Raffi rubbed his chest. “I think I got knocked down.” He froze then, seeing the thing that lay in a heap by the fire. “Is that . . . ?”
    “Don’t worry. It’s dead.”
    The beast lay on its side. Close up it looked hideous, its fur mangy and bald in patches, an odd rusty color, its distorted body crumpled in a pitiful heap.
    Galen left the woman to drink and came back. With one foot he rolled the beast over, then kneeled at its side. Fascinated, the Sekoi crouched next to him. “This is no jeckle. Look, it has hands.”
    Galen turned one, cautiously. The paw was remarkably like the Sekoi’s own but thicker and more stubby; seven jointed fingers, one a distinct thumb, the nails ridged to abnormal sharpness, bloody and split.
    “It’s got no nose either,” Raffi whispered.
    Galen turned the head. It fell back, and Raffi jumped. The beast’s eye stared up. He could see himself reflected, shadowy, upside