The Shadow at the Gate Read Free Page B

boy. Alive or otherwise.”
    “True.”
    “If Ronan is doing any thinking on this—and I’d bet his entire mind will be grappling with the problem—then he’ll find the boy, if he is to be found. The Knife or not, he’s still the best the Guild has.”
    “His salvation is the boy alive, so he must find him. But what will he find?”
    “That’s the hinge upon which all else turns.”
    “Have him watched.”
    “Oh, he’ll be watched,” said the steward. “Never fear. The dogs are already on his scent.”

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    THE COUNTRY COMES TO THE CITY
     
    The duke of Dolan’s party crested the rise on the southern edge of the Scarpe and began their descent down into the Rennet valley. The summer rains had been kind to the valley, and it was a lush vision of greenery. The river Rennet lay like a gleaming silver snake below them, sliding through the patchworked fields of corn, hay, and golden barley. To the west, the valley opened out into rolling hills. The city of Hearne rose there, shining in the afternoon sun. High stone walls, white towers proud against the sea beyond, spires threading the sky like so many slender needles. The river flowed past the city to meet the sea below the south wall. But though the city shone bright, the sea shone even brighter—a glittering expanse of blue light that blurred up into the sky.
    The wind was hushed on the valley floor, for the heights on either side were greater than they seemed. Everywhere there was the damp scent of loam and the trill of birds. The music of the river drifted up to them in all of its liquid voice.
    They made the gates just after sunset. An officer led them by torchlight through the city streets, winding ever higher toward the Highneck Rise district and the regent’s castle towering over all on its cliff. Their horses clattered over the stone bridge that led into the courtyard of the regent’s castle. Grooms and footmen materialized around them to take possession of horses and baggage. The regent’s steward came bowing down the wide marble steps. Nimman Botrell stood at the top. Torchlight flared around him, pushing back the night.
    “Hennen Callas!” the regent called out, smiling. “You and yours are welcome in my house.”
    He was tall and had a soft and foolish-looking face, a somewhat stout man with delicate, white hands that would have seemed more fitting for a woman than the regent of Hearne. He was dressed exquisitely in silk and velvet. A fop at casual glance. But only those lacking sense would dismiss Botrell carelessly. Even though his appearance did not inspire confidence, he had ably ruled Hearne for more than three decades, strengthening trade and improving relationships with the duchies.
    “Always an honor to have you and your husband, m’lady,” he said, bowing over Melanor Callas’ hand. “It’s been too long. The ladies of Hearne fade in the presence of northern roses such as yourself.”
    “I declare, Nimman,” said the duchess. “You do go on.”
    “Yes, you do,” said Levoreth, as the regent transferred his attention to her. His lips brushed against the back of her hand like the flutter of a butterfly.
    “Ah, Lady Levoreth. You’ll turn the heads of our young noblemen as never before.”
    “Perhaps their heads will turn right around until they fall off. An improvement for them all, no doubt.”
    “Such beauty. Such fire.” The regent turned to the duke and duchess. “You must be proud of your niece.”
    “Oh, rather,” blinked the duke. His wife mouthed something unintelligible and reproving at Levoreth, who scowled at her from behind the regent.
    “My steward will show to your rooms,” said the regent. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some matters to attend to. Details and whatnot for the great ball, you know. So delighted to see you after so long. Hennen, we must talk horses in the morning. I’ve a young colt you should see.”
    The castle was magnificent. Even Levoreth, who was never fond of