Silverlight Read Free

only woman ever to graduate from the T’hath Academy of
Blade and Bow. The warrior who once fought side by side with Tariq and Magnus
Tyrix.”
    Redshirt’s eyes widened.
    I nodded. “Ah. You recognize her name, do you?”
    “Look again, old man.” He bent, took a handful
of Kymber’s hair, and yanked her head back. “Kymber Oryx died at Marilian. Her
body was buried in a mass grave.”
    “I thought so too.” A note of shock had crept
into my voice. “But that’s her, no doubt.”
    “Liar! She dies.” Redshirt pulled his dagger.
    “Oh, I’m afraid not.” I glanced at all of them
in turn, just to be sure they understood. “If you turn her over to me, I will
allow you to live. Fight me and die.”
    “Who are you, exactly?” One of the men who’d
held Kymber suspended in midair – a giant of a man – moved to stand beside
Redshirt.
    “My name is Magnus Tyrix.” I pushed my hood
back and slid my sword from the scabbard at the same time. “And I am pleased to
introduce you to Bloodreign.”
    I swung hard and connected, registering Redshirt’s
wide-eyed surprise as I cut his throat open to the spine. Blood sprayed
everywhere: across me, the ground, those who stood closest to us.
    I whirled several more times, killing two,
severing a hand and slicing through someone’s collarbone before the surviving
ruffians fled into the forest.
    I sheathed my sword, dropped to one knee, and
rolled Kymber onto her back. She was a ghastly shade of gray-green, gulping air
in fits and starts. I scooped her up and headed for Fitz at a near run, my
visit with my sister all but forgotten.
     

     
    I soaked my kerchief in
the stream, squeezed it out, and dabbed at the wound on Kymber’s head. A
three-inch chunk of flesh fell away, exposing the bone beneath. It welled with
fresh blood as fast as I cleaned it up. I reminded myself that head wounds
always bled more, making them look worse than they actually were.
    Still shallow and raspy, her breathing had at
least settled into a predictable rhythm. I pressed gently near the cut,
wondering if her skull was broken. If not, it was a miracle.
    She never moved, never moaned, never blinked as
I rinsed her face and examined her. She always said her head was hard as a
rock, but I knew she was seriously injured. If the villagers thought she was a
witch, taking her into Jalartha was out of the question. I closed my eyes,
desperately wishing I could carry her back to Adamar and my current home, but
she’d never make it that far.
    “Damn it!” I shouted, startling my horse.
    What to do? What to do? She needed more capable
hands than mine to assess her injuries.
    I loosed a breath. Of course. The Blue Lantern
Inn was fairly close. Amori Grok, the innkeeper’s wife, had patched up enough
men, most of them T’hath graduates, to qualify as a healer. At one time, she’d
loved Kymber as much as I did.
    “Hold on for a bit longer, little one.” I
wrapped Kymber up in my cloak and snatched at Fitz’s reins with one hand.
“Amori will help us.”
     

     
    I spent most of the
night in the saddle. The warm, solid weight of Kymber in my arms cut through my
fatigue. Anxiety was truly the only thing that kept me upright. When the lights
of The Blue Lantern Inn came into view, I nearly wept. Migs Grok, the owner,
was one of my dearest friends. I could count on him and his wife for anything. 
    I rode around to the back of the inn and
dismounted, easing Kymber down from the saddle as fast and as carefully as I
could. Three short kicks upon the door, a pause, and another three kicks – my
personal signal to Migs. He soon stood in the doorway with a single lighted
candle, his wispy white hair askew on his head.
    “Magnus! What are you doing here at this hour?
And what do you have in your arms?” Migs squinted into the darkness.
    “Not what, but whom, old friend.”
    “Whom then?”  
    “Kymber Oryx.”
    “Kymber Oryx!” He pushed the door open so I
could enter. “Gods. Tell me.”
    “I