Shadow of All Night Falling Read Free Page A

night for settling scores with Council and King.
    Valther and Ridyeh neared the gate and its two sleepy guardsmen. One growled, “Who goes?”
    “Death, maybe,” Ridyeh replied. His sword whispered as he drew it from its scabbard. The tip stopped a hair’s breadth from the watchman’s throat.
    The second guard swung a rusty pike, but Valther ducked under, pressed a dagger against his ribs. “Down on the pavement!” he ordered, and down the man went, pike clattering. The other followed quickly. Valther and Ridyeh bound them, dumped them in the guardhouse.
    Ridyeh sighed. “When I saw that pike coming down...” He shrugged.
    “The gate,” Valther grumbled, embarrassed. Grunting, they heaved the bar aside, pushed the gate open. Ridyeh brought a torch from the gatehouse, carried it outside, wigwagged it above his head. Soon there came sounds of stealthily moving men.
    A giant of a man with a red beard emerged from the darkness, followed by sixty soldiers in the livery of Ravenkrak.
    “Ah, Captain Grimnason,” Ridyeh chuckled. He embraced the shaggy giant. “You’re right on time. Good.”
    “Yes, Milord. How’re things going?”
    “Perfectly, so far. But the end remains to be seen,” Valther replied. “We’ve got the hardest part to do. Follow me.”
    Arriving as Valther and Ridyeh were opening the city gate, Turran and the others found the door of the Tower of the Moon held by a single guard. Politely Turran said, “Bailiff, we’re Itaskian merchants, fur traders, and would like an audience with the King.”
    The watchman inclined his head, said, “Tomorrow night, maybe. Not tonight. He’s tied up in a Defense Council meeting. And isn’t it a bit late?”
    “Defense Council?”
    “Yes.” Lonely posts make men eager for company. This watchman was no exception. Leaning forward, whispering, he confided, “Ravenkrak is supposed to be stirring up the rabble. One of the men thought he saw Turran, the chief of the mad wizards. Old Seth Byranov, that was. Probably looking through bad wine. He’s a souse. But the King listened to him. Huh? Well, maybe the old fool knows something we don’t.” He chuckled, clearly thinking that unlikely. “Anyway, no audiences tonight.”
    “Not even for the Storm Kings themselves?” Luxos asked. He laughed softly when the old man jerked in astonishment.
    “Brock, Jerrad, take care of him,” Turran ordered. They bound and gagged the man quickly. “Luxos,”
    Turran called, holding a ragged piece of parchment to torchlight and squinting at it. “Which stair?” He held a plan of the tower that had been put together for Valther by those men sharpening swords in cellars.
    “The main if it’s speed we’re after.”
    Turran led the way. They met no resistance till they reached the door of the council chamber at tower’s top. There another bailiff tried to block their way. Leaning forward to look at their faces, he discovered the naked steel in their hands. “Assassins!” he cried. He scurried back, tried to close the door. But Brock and Turran used their shoulders, burst in over his sprawling form. Jerrad offered him a hand up after planting a boot on his sword.
    Councilmen panicked. Fat burghers threatened to skewer one another as they scrambled for weapons while retreating to the farthest wall. Their ineffectual guardian joined them. The King alone didn’t move. Fear kept him petrified.
    “Good evening!” said Turran. “Heard you were talking about us. Come now! No need to be afraid. We’re not after your lives-just your kingdom.” He laughed.
    His mirth died quickly. The Councilmen still kept their weapons presented for battle. “Ravenkrak must have this city!”
    “Why?” one asked. “Are you reviving a feud so ancient that it’s hardly a legend anymore? It’s been centuries since your ancestors were exiled.”
    “It’s more than that,” Turran replied. “We’re building an Empire. A new Empire, to beggar Ilkazar.” He said it seriously, though