Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) Read Free Page A

and other paraphernalia and converted into a fighting gallery where the Raven Knights could practise. Their normal training yard in the tower grounds was being used by Archmaster Drennan Folds and his apprentices, where their inexpert attempts at magick would do less harm. Consequently, the Raven Knights trained inside, the clashing of their weapons making an almighty racket within the hallowed confines of the ancient tower.
    Waylian paused on the staircase, watching them through an open archway as they went at one another with sword, spear and glaive. He could only marvel at their strength and skill – even fully armoured they fought with a speed and ferocity that almost made Waylian’s head spin. He had watched the Wyvern Guard training on the way from the Kriega Mountains and had thought them a fierce and deadly bunch. The Raven Knights almost matched them for raw brutality, and surpassed them in finesse and vigour. Waylian wouldn’t have liked to call which order of knights were the more proficient killers.
    He stood and watched, almost mesmerised, until a figure walked from beyond the entranceway, blocking his view. Lucen Kalvor turned slowly, regarding Waylian with those dark arching brows of his. It was still unclear if Kalvor knew who had aided Gelredida in her plotting against the Archmasters. Whether Kalvor knew it was Waylian who had gathered proof that he’d murdered his former master to take his place as Archmaster was impossible to tell. It was clear, however, that he held no love for Magistra Gelredida, and by association it was doubtful he liked Waylian much either.
    He probably thinks you’re her pet, like everyone else, Grimmy. People don’t like other people’s pets; always leaving their fur and the stink of their arses where they’re not wanted.
    Waylian averted his gaze and hurried down the stairs. He could feel Kalvor’s dark eyes following him as he went, not really wanting to know what the Archmaster was thinking. He was pretty sure it would be nothing complimentary.
    Further down, the sound of clashing steel relented, only to be replaced by squabbling voices. The closer he got to the sound the more Waylian thought it reminded him of a gaggle of geese, pecking at one another over a scrap of food.
    Again he paused when he reached the source of the noise, peering through the open door of a huge wood-panelled meeting room. In its centre sat Archmaster Crannock Marghil and surrounding him were more than a dozen magisters, all speaking at once, barracking the old man with their protestations.
    ‘We will all be killed!’ ‘You should have bargained with the Elharim!’ ‘There’s no sense in this, we should flee!’ ‘I’m too old to go into battle!’ ‘I can’t fight, my sciatica’s playing up!’
    To his credit, Crannock soaked up the cacophony with a grim defiance that belied his years, taking every panicked excuse on the chin like a seasoned pugilist.
    Waylian remembered when Gelredida had given the old man the task of mustering the veteran magisters. At the time she had said they would follow Crannock, that they respected him. Looking through the open door into the room, Waylian could see little evidence of that. Nevertheless, the Archmaster seemed unbowed by the complaints of his fellow Caste members. It seemed they would have to join the fight whether they liked it or not.
    When he’d made his way to the bottom of the vast stairway Waylian paused at the double doors standing open before him. He could hear the sounds of strict instruction coming from the courtyard beyond and he was in no hurry to rush out and let himself be seen by his fellow apprentices or their tutor. In the past few days Drennan Folds had put every apprentice left in the tower through their paces, assessing their abilities and training them rigorously in whatever area of the Art they proved themselves most proficient. It had been a harsh few days, and not everyone had survived. If there were any doubt as to the