The Shadow’s Curse Read Online Free

said Draikh, in his mind.
    But Wadi has to come first. I can’t leave her to Khareh’s torture.
    ‘Agreed.’
    ‘I’m sorry Vlad, Loni,’ Raim said aloud. ‘I’m going to Khareh’s camp to free Wadi. That comes before everything – even my scar. Even if it means fighting against Khareh, his entire spirit-army and the Yun. Draikh and I can do it. I will not leave her to suffer whatever he has planned for her.’
    Vlad stared at Raim for a long time, sending an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Then the man attempted to stand, waving off the helping hand that Loni offered him. He placed one hand on a shaking knee to support his weight, then with a groan pushed himself to his full height. Raim had forgotten what an imposing figure Vlad struck when he wanted to. But he resisted taking a step back, standing as tall as Vlad, the grass of the steppes waving all around them.
    ‘Go to the Baril. Discover the origins of your scar. Rid yourself of that burden. Become whole again, in the eyes of the people. Then you can carry out your mission for revenge.’
    ‘No. I want to rescue Wadi.’
    Vlad looked Raim dead in the eye. ‘But what makes you so sure that Wadi wants to be rescued?’

4
WADI
    Wadi sat at the hard wooden desk in the yurt and stretched the cramp from her fingers. The circulation had returned to her hands since they had last been bound, but it had been a long time since she had written for such an extended period of time. In the desert, there wasn’t much need for correspondence.
    She was grateful that her father had taken the time to teach her to read and write as a child, as one of the few Darhanians who knew how. She knew that meant he must have been Baril at some point in his life, but not since she had been born.
    Throughout all that time learning, she had never envisaged using her skills to become a scribe to a ruthless khan.
    It saved her from being just a prisoner, at least.
    A tug at her ankle as she attempted to cross her legs reminded her of that fact. A thick, coarse rope tied her ankle to a stake firmly embedded in the ground at the centre of the yurt. She had free rein within a predetermined perimeter. Long enough to get to the desk. Long enough to reach the jug of water that had been left for her. Long enough to reach the pile of cushions she slept on. Not long enough to reach the candles, which provided her a little light after the sun went down. Not long enough to reach the doorway.
    Sometimes she imagined picking up a cushion and throwing it at the candle, setting the place ablaze. But then either she would be beaten as punishment, or burned alive. Neither of those options was appealing.
    Her task had been Khareh’s idea, even though Altan – his vile adviser – had argued persistently against it. Wadi had quickly learned to avoid the scrutiny of the beak-nosed Altan, who had once advised Khareh’s uncle, before turning traitor to him and throwing his support behind Khareh. The only person in the entire camp worse than Altan was Garus – the snivelling, weak sage who had taught Khareh the secret of his craft: that he needed to break a vow. Where Altan was like a vulture, circling the carnage until it was safe to feed on the remnants, Garus was a rat scurrying for Khareh’s scraps on the ground. And it was Garus who had convinced Khareh to break his oath to Raim.
    For most of the first month in captivity, Wadi had heard a man’s screams on the other side of the yurt’s thick felt walls. More than once, it had been enough to make her heave the contents of her stomach onto the carpets, imagining what the man must be going through, although she never gave Khareh the pleasure of seeing her discomfort. One night, she had heard the man scream a name – ‘Zu’ – and she realized it was Vlad being tortured. From the cackle that followed, she recognized his torturer: Garus.
    She had tried to break through the walls that separated them, then. She had kicked at the frame of the yurt,