Stone of Tears Read Free Page A

screams that were just as brief. Howling, cackling laughter echoed in the stairwell. Blood splattered in an arc up the white marble, almost to where Chase was charging up the stairs. Rachel hid her face against him and hugged his neck tight, but didn’t make a sound.
    Zedd was impressed by her. He had never seen one so young use her head as well as she did. She was smart. Smart and gutsy. He understood why Giller had used her to try to get the last box of Orden away from Darken Rahl. The way of wizards, Zedd thought—using people to do what must be done.
    The three ran down the hall until the screeling appeared at the top of stairs, then they slowed to a backward walk. The screeling grinned with blood red teeth, its deathless black eyes momentarily reflecting golden in the sunlight coming in a tall, narrow window. It winced at the light, licked the blood off its claws, and then loped after them. They went down the next stairway. The creature followed, sometimes stopping briefly in confusion, seemingly unsure if it was them it was after.
    Chase held Rachel in one arm and a sword in his other hand. Zedd stayed between them and the screeling as they backed down a small hall. The screeling climbed up the walls, scratching the smooth stone, and sprang across tapestries, tearing them with its claws as it followed the three.
    Polished walnut side tables, each with three ornate legs carved in vines and dotted with gilded blossoms, tipped over into the hall as the screeling pushed at them with a claw, grinning and laughing at the sound of cut glass vases shattering on the stone floor. Water and flowers spilled over carpets. The screeling hopped down and tore a priceless blue and yellow Tanimuran carpet to shreds as it howled in laughter and then skittered up the wall to the ceiling.
    It advanced along the ceiling like a spider, head hanging down, watching them.
    “How can it do that?” Chase whispered.
    Zedd only shook his head as they backed into the immense central halls of the Peoples’ Palace. The ceiling here was well over fifty feet high, a collection of four-pointed ribbed vaults held up by a column at the corner of each vault.
    Suddenly the screeling sprang along the ceiling of the small hall it was in and leapt out at them.
    Zedd released a bolt of fire as the creature flew through the air. He missed, the fire boiling up the granite wall, leaving a trail of black soot before it dissipated.
    For the first time, Chase didn’t miss. With a solid strike his sword lopped off one of the screeling’s arms. For the first time the screeling howled in pain. It tumbled around on the ground and darted behind a green veined gray marble column. The severed arm lay on the stone floor, twitching and grasping.
    Soldiers came running across the vast hall, their swords to hand, the clatter of armor and weapons reverberating off the vaulted ceilings high overhead, their boot strikes echoing off the tiles around the devotion pool as they skirted it. D’Haran soldiers were a fierce lot, and they looked all the more so at finding there was an invader in the Palace.
    Zedd felt an odd sort of apprehension at seeing them. A few days ago they would have dragged him off to the former Master Rahl to be killed, and now they were the loyal followers of the new Master Rahl, Zedd’s grandson, Richard.
    As Zedd saw the soldiers coming, he realized the halls were filled with people. The afternoon devotion had just ended. Even if the screeling did have only one arm, this could be a blood bath. The screeling could kill a few dozen of them before they even thought to run. And then it would kill more when they did. Getting all these people away was the priority.
    The soldiers rushed up around the wizard, eyes hard, searching, ready, looking for the cause of the commotion. Zedd turned to the commander, a heavily muscled man in leather and a polished breastplate with the ornate letter ‘R’ embossed on it: the symbol of the House of Rahl. The scars of rank