A Flame in Hali Read Free

hooded man stared at the coin in his palm, while the people who’d been given food hurried away and those who had come too late turned back with sagging shoulders. His hood concealed his expression, but something in his carriage kept even the grumblers at a distance.
    “You there!” one of the guards called as he locked the granary doors. “We’re done for today.” He added, in a more kindly tone, “Come back tomorrow, earlier next time, and we’ll try to give you something.”
    “I don’t need anything from the likes of you, ” the man snarled. “You and your accursed sorcerer masters—”
    The guard’s face hardened and he took a step forward. The hooded man whirled with surprising quickness, spat out a curse, and scurried away. The guard turned to his partner, who still wore the sash of a cadet.
    “Keep an eye out for that one. I’ve seen his kind before. They make trouble wherever they go.”
    “We have enough of that this winter without some madman drumming up more,” the boy replied, shaking his head. “Should we tell the captain?”
    “What should we say, there’s yet another malcontent on the streets? We’d as well inform him the sun came up, or there is an excess of mice in the granary!” The first guard barked out a laugh. “Come on, let’s get back to the barracks. A drop of hot spiced wine sounds good to me.”

    “Friend.”
    Sound shaped into word, repeated now, along with a gentle shake of the shoulders. Eduin’s head felt as if it had swollen to several times its normal size, and with each pounding of his pulse, an answering jolt erupted behind his eyes. Hands slipped beneath his arms, lifting him. He opened his mouth to protest, for the slightest movement only intensified his headache. He realized his eyes were still closed, and a bright light shone directly on his face.
    Day.
    He mumbled a curse. It had been day when he found oblivion beneath the tavern bench, but now it was day again. Probably not the same one, but he neither knew nor cared.
    “Come on, sit up, that’s the way,” came the voice again.
    Go away. Leave me be.
    Thought came slowly, as if the cheap ale still flooded his veins. Somehow, he found himself on his feet, eyes slitting against the brightness. He made out the blurred shape of a man—one head, two arms, two legs—enough to convince him this was probably real and not another drunken hallucination.
    “Aldones, you stink,” the stranger said. “But you’re soaking wet and I can’t let you stay out here. Night’s coming on. It’ll be a cold one, enough to freeze Zandru’s bones.”
    To freeze. It was a painless death, he’d heard. To sleep and never wake, not with some interfering stranger yammering at him. It sounded wonderful.
    No more forcing down ale so raw a dog wouldn’t touch it, guzzling the stuff until the knot in his belly finally eased and the voice in his head fell silent. No more petty, demeaning jobs or stealing small coins, begging for the next round. He’d long since ceased to care about a bed or food or the taunts of the gutter urchins. The only thing that mattered was the next drink, and the next. And stillness, blessed stillness.
    His body was moving now, partly by its own reflexes, partly propelled by the gentle, uncompromising hands. About him, an alley came into focus. He didn’t recognize it; he could have been anywhere in the poorer areas of Thendara. Or Dalereuth or Arilinn, for that matter.
    No, not Arilinn. For in that place, he could not hide. They would know him, no matter how dirty or drunk he was. They would know his mind, the leronyn of the Tower. Even with the psychic shields that long ago had become as automatic as breath, they would know him because he had once been one of them.
    Here in the anonymous squalor of Darkover’s largest city, no one would think to look for him. Here he could drown himself in a river of ale. No one would know if he lived or died. No one would care. Only in the bitter winter would some