Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1 Read Free

Dal Hon. ‘You – you move in ways I have not seen in a long time.’ The blazing eyes shifted to Dorin. ‘Is there nothing you fear? Nothing you would not dare?’ And he laughed again, waving them off. ‘By all means. Good riddance! At least now I shall have some peace and quiet. Though I predict that those without these walls will not!’
    Dorin began edging backwards. ‘The door,’ he hissed to his— what . . .
accomplice
?
    ‘Not an impediment, I expect,’ the youth answered. The nacht rode his shoulders, a maniac’s grin at its dagger-toothed mouth. Dorin leaned away.
Gods, what is this thing?
    The door was as before, the opening just manageable. The nacht scampered through first. It chattered and waved as if urging them on. Dorin squatted on his haunches, suspicious. Large, then small, then large once more? The Jag must have
let
them in. Must have been bored beyond reason.
    The dark-skinned youth slid through. Dorin cast one last narrowed glance to the rear, as if expecting a quick attack after the lull, but saw nothing.
Very well. Back to your frigid gloom and brooding silence. Good riddance to
you,
I say.
    Outside it was dark – not the dimness of a coming dawn but that of gathering twilight. Much more murky as they were at the bottom of a narrow gorge. Dorin faced the youth who now stood waiting, his walking stick planted before him. He held the nacht curled up in one arm for all the world like a sleeping baby – the ugliest one in existence. ‘So . . .’ Dorin began, clearing his throat. ‘What is your name, then?’
    The Dal Hon’s brows rose as if he was completely startled by the question. ‘My name?’ His eyes darted about the rocks. ‘Ah . . . my name.’ He smiled and raised a finger. ‘Ah! Wu! My name is . . . Wu. Yes, Wu . . . and you?’
    Dorin felt his lips tightening to a slit.
If you’re going to use a fake name at least make it up beforehand!
He thought of a possible pseudonym for himself – his nickname from his youth? But
Beanpole
wasn’t exactly the image he wished to project. No other name suggested itself and so he fell back on his own: ‘Dorin.’
    The Dal Hon – Dorin couldn’t bring himself to think of the youth as
Wu
– gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Good, good. Well . . . it has been amusing, but I must be going. Quite busy, you know. Much in demand.’
    Now Dorin’s gaze narrowed. He brought his hands up close to his baldric. ‘Go? We have to decide how to split . . .’ But the damned fellow was somehow fading away. Blasted mages! How he hated them! His hands flicked out and two blades darted to fly through the mage’s dissolving form.
    The Dal Hon’s expression registered shocked surprise as he disappeared. ‘Amazing! Those would have got me . . . had I been standing there in the first place . . .’
    Mages! Blasted warren-rats!
Dorin retrieved his knives, checked their edges. Only mages had ever escaped him. He scanned the dark cliff-sides. And yet . . . they were a long way from anywhere. Time remained. He’d find him. There was really only one place the fellow could possibly be heading for. Li Heng.
    If he didn’t track him down before then he’d find the Hood-damned thief there. Eventually.
    *
    Within the chamber, the Jaghut waved a hand and stone grated and shifted as the entrance sealed itself once again. He returned to studying the ancient pattern of the slats before him – one set out thousands of years ago. His tangled brows rose then, and he sat back, stroking his chin. ‘Well, well . . . You would send two more upon your hopeless fool’s errand.’ He studied the darkness about him as if awaiting an answer. ‘Why should these two fare any better than all those you have sent to their deaths before?’ He waited again, head cocked, listening for a time; then his shoulders slumped and he hung his head. ‘Oh – very well.’ Grumbling, he rose and shambled off into the darkness beyond the lamp’s glow.
    The clank and clatter of rummaging echoed