The Skeleth Read Free Page A

sure where the Nethergrim was, if it could in truth be said to be anywhere at all. “I will fight you and I will beat you!”
    Into the answering silence crept a sound, a rustle in themoorspike from the dark along the road. Edmund tensed. “Who’s there?” He drew his knife—a work knife, short and single-edged, made for whittling and carving more than fighting.
    The rustling sound shifted, seeming to come from behind him. He whirled about with his knife raised high, but even as he did so, hands flashed forth from the gloom, and words rained down upon him: “ I GRANT THE CURS E OF PEACE.”
    With a clear, high pinging sound, the blade of Edmund’s knife snapped in half, the point falling to drop amongst the grass. A figure emerged from the shadows, a girl of perhaps fifteen, in a dove-gray dress and dark hair bound up beneath a hood. “I’m sorry about the spell. Are you Edmund Bale? The Wizard of Moorvale?”
    Edmund scrabbled backward and tripped in the moorspike. “What’s it to you?”
    The girl approached. She looked around her. “Who were you talking to?”
    Edmund stared up at the girl. She was not quite what he would call pretty, but he could not help looking long at her, not least because each of her two large eyes was a completely different color—one brown, the other a glimmering blue.
    â€œI saw your light.” The girl’s voice had a sweetness to it, with just the trace of a rolling accent. “Were you waiting for me? Is that why you’re out here—did you know I was coming?”
    Edmund got to his feet. “Who are you?”
    The girl drew back her hood. “My name is Elísalon, but folk in the north just call me Ellí.” Long, straight hair slipped free to hang in tresses as black as the surrounding sky. “Is it true,Edmund? Did you truly fight the Nethergrim? Did you see it, did you face it down?”
    That forced a laugh from Edmund, though the sound died lonely on the moors. “I wouldn’t call it facing her down, exactly—but, yes, I saw her, and I fought her as best I could.”
    â€œHelp me.” The girl drew near, hands clasped and held out as though to beg. “Please. I’m trying to fight it, too, but if they find out what I’m trying to do, they will . . .” She trembled.
    Edmund watched the girl in silence. No matter how long he looked at her, he could see nothing but her fear.
    The girl turned to look east, toward the torches and the riders on the distant rise of moor. “Please, I’m scared. I’m all alone.”
    â€œI will help you.” To Edmund’s ears, his own voice had never sounded so deep, so measured and assured. “Tell me how.”

Chapter 2

    T he page boy looked Katherine up and down—but mostly up. He poked his head through the door behind him. “My lord? It’s Katherine.” He waited. “Katherine, my lord—the marshal’s daughter.”
    At a muttered reply, he made a sweeping bow. He turned back to Katherine. “Go on in, then.” He drew the door wide. “But you’d best not anger him.”
    Katherine picked up the skirts of her good blue dress. She limped across the threshold with her weight on her uninjured leg. “My lord, I am here at your summons.”
    Her lord did not answer, and neither did anyone else in the room. Tapestries graced every inch of wall, trapping the heat of the well-tended fire in the hearth. Scribes and clerks stared up at Katherine from their seats around a table strewn with ledger books, inkwells, piles of coin and a set of fine brass scales. Servants stood ready to attend the table with ewers of wine and a plate of sweetmeats, but no one looked hungry.
    â€œYou sent for me, my lord?” Katherine made a slow curtsy with her bandaged leg held carefully straight in front of her.
    No answer came. The scribes kept to their work. Katherine