The Shadow of Malabron Read Online Free PDF Page B

was
meant
to be here. He belonged here, in some way that Will, and even Rowen, did not.
    “How did you find the snug?” Rowen asked warily, moving closer to Will. “You don’t have a light.”
    “I have eyes, ears, and a nose,” the stranger said. “And this wood is my home. I should know it pretty well, don’t you think?”
    His voice had a cold, ringing quality that reminded Will of the sound of the mirrors. He stood on his guard, ready to make a break for the door should Rowen give any sign, but she merely stared at the man as if undecided what to do.
    “Why are you here?” she said at last.
    The man called Moth turned and shut the door before answering.
    “I might ask the same thing of you, Rowen. I doubt your grandfather knows you’re out here tonight.”
    “I was just…”
    “Looking for adventure, perhaps? Well, you found some. More than you wanted, I think.”
    Rowen appeared to be about to reply, but under Moth’s icy gaze she kept silent and lowered her head.
    “As for me, I came looking for foolish travellers with no idea what danger they are in,” Moth went on, a darker tone in his voice now. “And here you are, tucking in to a pleasant supper. Fetches have come to the Wood, Rowen. Hasn’t your grandfather told you about them?”
    “Fetches,” Rowen said in a shocked whisper. “So that’s what they were. You saw them too?”
    “I did,” Moth said, and his arresting eyes fell upon Will. “And there are other strangers in the Wood tonight, I see,” he added.
    “This is Will,” Rowen said. “The fetches were after him.”
    Moth made Will a slight bow.
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said with a cold smile. “I am, as you have probably already gathered, the unwelcome Moth. Will, is it?”
    Will looked at Rowen, who gave the slightest, almost imperceptible nod. There was something in Moth’s manner, a warning edge even to his smile, that kept him on his guard.
    “Will Lightfoot,” he said finally.
    “I met a Will once,” Moth said. “A fine wordweaver. Will Break Spear, or Shake Spear… It was a long time ago.”
    “Oh, him,” Will said dubiously. “We had to read one of his plays in school.”
    “Perhaps you and he are kindred.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Moth’s way of speaking was strange. Old-fashioned, like Rowen’s clothing. And now he was telling them he had met someone who had lived hundreds of years ago, even though he looked no older than Will’s father.
    Will noticed then that Moth carried two swords. One was long and slender, and sheathed in a scabbard of finely worked leather, but it was the other sword that held Will’s gaze. The scabbard and the hilt were pitch black and both appeared to be made of some darkly lustrous stone.
    “We must warn the Errantry about this,” Rowen said.
    “I have already done so,” Moth said. “And as pleasant as it is to chatter here by the fire, we had best leave. Someone or something set the mirror shards as a snare and it wasn’t the fetches. I will take you as far as the high road, and from there you will go straight home, Rowen, or I can not answer for the consequences.”
    Rowen kept silent and nodded her head.
    Moth went to the door, opened it and looked out. Lifting his arm he whistled, two strong, shrill notes.
    “What’s he doing?” Will whispered, but Rowen did not answer. She looked up and he followed her gaze, then jumped back in alarm as a large black bird swooped out of the darkness. The bird alighted on Moth’s outstretched arm. Its feathers fluttered a moment as it settled, and then it peered with its shining black eye into the snug.
    “Morrigan, you know Rowen,” Moth said to the bird. “And this is Will Lightfoot. Will, this is Morrigan.”
    “Hello,” Will said, and then felt foolish, for the bird only blinked and tilted its head inquisitively, as any bird might. It was a raven, Will guessed, that Moth had caught and trained. Then, to his surprise, the raven climbed Moth’s arm to