Bloodstone Read Online Free Page B

to sleep.”
    The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was dark, well, darker than usual for one who saw only shadows. He saw one now, the hulking form of the innkeeper illuminated by some little light, a lantern, he supposed, not the fire that usually glowed under the inn’s kettles across the room. He yawned, wondering what had roused his master. Predawn guests usually cheered Ulerroth with the prospect of twice the coin, but his touch and tone had been brusque.
    “What should I do, sir?” Gareth felt for the tunic he’d placed at his feet before lying down to sleep, found the hem and dragged the garment over his head.
    “Go to the stable. We have a guest.”
    “At this hour?” the voice of Freth, the cook, shrilled from across the kitchen. “Can't he wait till morning to eat?”
    Gareth found his staff beside the bed where he’d leaned it to mark the location of his shoes.
    “Be quick about it, woman,” Ulerroth said. “And be sure it's good.”
    Wood tumbled into the hearth pit. “Good!” Freth sputtered. “Who the demon is he, traipsing around at night this close to the Wehrland, a prince?”
    Gareth tapped his staff to the door, found the latch, and lifted it. Warm, moist night air caressed his face. Behind him, his master spoke in a hushed voice.
    “Not a prince, you idiot, but the Shadow Man.”
    Freth's sudden intake of breath startled Gareth. His hand slipped on the latch and the door closed, leaving him outside.
    Alone.

Chapter Three
    Gareth stood for a moment, calming his nerves and opening his senses. Being surrounded by darkness wasn’t particularly frightening when the condition didn’t improve with the sunrise. If anything, the shadows of day confused him with their changing shapes and sudden movements. Gareth preferred the night when he could maneuver with confidence.
    At night there were fewer sounds and he could hear the echo of each tap of his staff. The echoes spoke to him of length and breadth and height. The breeze was like a living thing then, full of whispers about the shapes it slowed and parted for ,assages, walls, and posts. It brought, too, slight temperature changes, fragrances and odors.
    There was an odor now, and a subtle warmth. Gareth hesitated. The odor was the expected one of a strange horse and its leather trappings. He could tell by the shuffle of hooves that the animal stood just within the stable doors.
    But the warmth? There was no post or other obstacle here. The area was open between the stable and the kitchen, at least it had been when he last walked it after supper. Now he was distinctly aware of something diverting the breeze from his face.
    The skin on the back of his neck prickled. Who was Ulerroth’s guest that he arrived in the dead of night and was spoken of in hushed tones? What kind of man would take upon himself the name of Shadow but one who could stand undetected in the dark? Gareth swallowed. What if—what if the man stood there now, before him, watching and—
    The warmth dissipated.
    Gareth stood, gripping the head of his staff while the night breeze circled his forehead like a friendly cat. He breathed it, carefully, but there was only the smell of the horse now. Whatever he’d sensed before was gone.
    The horse huffed.
    He turned toward the sound, took a step, and concentrated again on the fickle breeze. It licked at the damp hair at his nape, teasing him with the promise of a chill. Nothing diverted it. He shook off his uncertainty and approached the horse, holding out his free hand. “Easy, my boy. It’s only Gareth come to rub you down and settle you in for the night.”
    The horse shook its bridle, stamped, and thrust its muzzle into his outstretched palm.
    Gareth smiled. He stroked the animal’s head, then followed the ears to the crest and down to the withers. It was a tall animal, sixteen hands, and sturdy enough to carry armor, but the saddle it bore was a light one. He ran his hands along the rigging, finding a crupper and a chest