Winter Witch Read Online Free PDF

Jamang Kira, a childhood nemesis he’d not seen in years.
    While Declan was no more than average height and build, he stood nearly a head taller than his visitor and probably outweighed him by half. Jamang had always been small and scrawny, with a disposition that reminded Declan of the overbred lapdogs favored by the matrons of Korvosa. Some men might have rued such a small stature, but not Jamang. Declan knew that, from boyhood, Jamang had learned that when someone was busy guarding his ankles against a nip, it was easier to slip a knife between his ribs.
    Jamang strutted toward Declan like a bantam cock, and his confident smile proclaimed he was sure of his welcome, not just here but anywhere in Korvosa. Jamang wore the city’s colors from the red velvet slouch hat perched on his raven-black hair to his fine crimson jacket to the gleaming ebony of his boots. Riding proudly on his chest was a silver amulet proclaiming his graduation from the Acadamae, Korvosa’s most famous school of magic.
    They exchanged one of the back-thumping embraces common to young men and quickly drew apart. After a moment’s study, Jamang offered, “You’re looking well.”
    Declan did not miss the faint note of surprise in Jamang’s voice. He nodded toward Jamang’s new Acadamae amulet. “It would appear that congratulations are due.”
    “For many reasons,” Jamang said smugly. “I have recently acquired a position with Somar Nevinoff. I trust you know the name?”
    A reply was neither necessary nor expected. Everyone in Korvosa who had a passing interest in magic—and that included nearly everyone in Korvosa—knew the name Somar Nevinoff. The man was a powerful necromancer with more imagination than scruples.
    “I can think of few situations better suited to developing your ...natural inclinations,” Declan said. He barely concealed a smirk.
    Jamang’s face brightened, and he made a little bow. “How gracious of you to say so.”
    Declan inclined his head politely to cover his wasted mockery. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
    The young necromancer’s countenance settled into more serious lines, an effort at gravitas so studious that Declan suspected Jamang had practiced it before a mirror.
    “Concern,” Jamang said. “I’m deeply concerned about you, Avari. As one of your oldest friends, I felt a duty to speak out.”
    Declan gritted his teeth. Jamang’s pompous intonations foreshadowed a conversation Declan did not wish to have. Still, there was courtesy to be observed.
    “Speak out about what?”
    Jamang swept one hand in an arc that took in Declan, the rooftop observatory, and the not-quite-fashionable Cliffside neighborhood Majeed Nores’s manor occupied. He sniffed. “This is no place for a wizard of your talents.”
    Alarms chimed in Declan’s brain. Flattery had never been among the weapons in Jamang’s arsenal, and Declan doubted it was a skill he had learned at the Acadamae. Whatever had brought Jamang here was something he wanted badly enough to overcome his scorn for the innkeeper’s son.
    “I’m afraid my master shares your opinion of my ability,” Declan said, deliberately misunderstanding the compliment, “but since my apprentice fee is paid in full and he is not inclined to return it, he bears with me.”
    “My point precisely,” Jamang said. He stabbed a finger in Declan’s direction for emphasis. “You are still an apprentice, and to an astronomer.”
    “It’s an interesting study,” said Declan.
    The necromancer shook his head sadly. “Such a waste! You, who set out on a wizard’s path—although why you chose to study magic at the Theumanexus confounds me, considering that the Acadamae holds thrice the prestige and many times the opportunities ...” He frowned, seeming to have lost his train of thought.
    “I’m not interested in fame and fortune,” suggested Declan.
    Jamang’s laugh was as sharp as a dog’s yap. He shook his head as if he’d just heard the most