Vengeance of the Hunter Read Online Free PDF

said that the Anreulag Herself had struck him down.
    All the whispers, in one form or another, reached the ears of Nine-fingered Rab. This vexed him, for his only goal was to drown himself in wine and in the attentions of whatever willing partners he could find. Neither distraction worked, for the whispers followed him through all the seediest corners of the city, reminding him over and over that he wasn’t where he was meant to be: at the Rook’s side. The bastard should’ve been our kill was the loudest whisper of all, from within himself.
    Yet not one whisper had warned him of the Tantiu stranger who’d found him tonight.
    He’d lost track of how many taverns he’d visited, how many gambling holes had filled his pockets for him only to empty them out again, how many streets he’d skulked along in search of purses to cut and claim. Stepping out into the Jomhas night almost blinded Rab after the gaudy brightness of the tavern he’d just been in, and he wasn’t entirely certain even now of what street he was on. They’d begun to look the same to him, with too many black ribbons adorning lampposts and doorways and the arms of the populace, turning the city into a maze of incomprehensibly lamenting shadows. Or perhaps he himself was the shadow, slipped sideways out of the world where he belonged, bereft of the light that had anchored his existence.
    You’re getting maudlin , he chided himself, yet he almost didn’t care. The shadow-fancy was tempting, but it was distracting him from the matter at hand: finding out what his new, unwanted companion knew about Julian. Then there’d be more wine and gambling, however much it took to banish every last one of the accursed whispers in his thoughts.
    Till then, he’d work on banishing the Tantiu man from his company. The fellow reminded him far too much of her , though he was the furthest thing possible from a timid maiden. This man was both taller and stronger than Rab, if the height and bulk of him could be trusted. Whoever he was, he moved like a guardsman or a soldier, which made him an asset to have available on the streets at this hour—unless he was setting Rab up for a trap.
    Keeping the Tantiu in sight at all times, the young assassin led him into a warren of alleyways, where the cobblestones were slick with mud and moss. There they came to a door so weathered that the original hue of its cracked and peeling paint was long faded into an ashy gray. The sign above the door retained more of its color, for the skirt that adorned the buxom maiden painted there was still a vivid green. Less distinct were the letters in Nirrivan script beneath her. Someone had tried, and failed, to sand the letters completely away; enough of a trace of them remained that an attentive eye could sketch out the shapes of them along the aged wood. Rab almost sympathized. Like him, the Green Kirtle was keeping a lower profile than it might have liked.
    For now, though, it’d serve the purpose at hand.
    He pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold. The crowd here was smaller than in the place they’d left, but with night full-on, the place was far from empty. Here, though, the smells of baking bread and roasting meat were stronger than hops or beer or ale. For an instant Rab stood frozen, shocked by a sudden inner snarl of hunger. When had he eaten last? He couldn’t recall, and the knowledge nearly dismayed him. But he could not, would not show any weakness before this stranger. Any such lapse, for one of his trade, was as lethal as baring his throat to the nearest knife.
    Yet his legs subtly trembled, and he fought to keep them steady as he led his companion into the tavern. “Coffee,” he shouted to the proprietor, with a dogged kind of pride that no trace of his scattered state showed in his voice. “Hot and black as pitch.”
    There were still a few empty tables in sight. Habit drove Rab to the one against the farthest wall, where he could claim a chair with a clear