The Telastrian Song Read Online Free

it. The man swore and Soren slammed the pan into his head as hard as he could. The man crumpled into a heap on the floor.
    The other man charged at Soren, his sword extended. Soren screamed, partly in the hopes of intimidating him and partly from the pain in his shoulder. The entire right side of his body was starting to go numb, save the patch of searing hot pain where he was hit. It was an uncomfortable reminder of the wound he’d received in Shandahar from which he took months to recover.
    Despite the greater skill and speed advantage that the Gift—even weak as it now was—gave him, a frying pan was no match for a sword in the hand of a moderately competent opponent. The pan was always where he needed it to be a moment too late. It was too heavy and unwieldy. Just as Soren was beginning to wonder how he could improve his situation, a third man came into the house, reloading his crossbow; struggling to prime the string and watch what was happening at the same time. With only one useful arm, Soren’s options were limited. The bowman was unlikely to miss at this range, and trying to win a sword fight with a frying pan was inviting disaster.
    Soren hurled the heavy pan at the swordsman, and by a stroke of luck it struck him square in the face. He staggered backwards and wobbled. With him momentarily stunned, Soren turned his attention to the bowman. He froze when he saw the man raise the bow. There was too much distance between them for Soren to hope to cover it—or was there? He was caught between diving for cover and rushing the bowman, but it was no time for indecision.
    He decided to take a chance and lunged forward, his right arm trailing behind him as he moved. He had only taken a single step when he realised it was too far. All he could hope for was that the man would miss, or hit him somewhere that was not vital. He waited for the click of the trigger and the thrum of the bowstring, but all he heard was a gasp.
    The bowman’s hand drifted out to his right and he fired the bolt harmlessly into the wall. A length of steel protruded through his chest. It disappeared back in and he dropped to the ground. Alessandra stood there holding Soren’s sword, its blade glistening with the bowman’s blood.
    Soren reached forward and took it from her. He turned to the swordsman who was squinting tears and blood from his eyes and ran him through. That done he turned back to Alessandra.
    ‘Are you all right?’ she said.
    Soren didn’t know how to answer, but nodded nonetheless.
    She looked at the man he had just killed. ‘Shouldn’t we have questioned them first?’
    ‘What could they tell us that we don’t already know? That Amero is still trying to kill me and that people know where I am?’
    ‘You’re wounded,’ she said, when she spotted the bolt sticking out of his shoulder.
    He ignored her and went to the destroyed front door and looked out, listening carefully. There was no sound, but he could see three horses tied to a fence a short distance from the house, far enough to be out of earshot. Only then did he relax enough to let the pain of his wound affect him, and he collapsed into Alessandra’s arms.

The Mage Takers
    B anneret Intelligencier Vallis Giura crouched as low as he could on the wall. He was no novice in the practice of concealment and disguise, but this was a situation he would rather not have been in. Sitting atop a two-story wall, his body breaking the line of its top, he was in plain sight for anyone who happened to look in his direction. In his favour it was night-time, and the wall top was beyond the reach of the mage lamps that lit the quiet street below. Since taking his vantage point, only one person had passed along it.
    The most likely person to see him was the man Giura was spying on. Cristan Nerli was in a lit apartment room opposite Giura’s vantage point. There was a pane of glass between them and the man had no reason to believe anyone was watching him. Nerli was dangerous, and