Read Online The Margrave by Catherine Fisher - Free Book Online

nothing. Men were trampling down the corridor, a bodyguard of at least ten, hefty and threatening. “Uncle!” The boy turned, almost swelling with pride. “Uncle, it’s me! It’s Milo!”
    “Milo.” The voice was dry and resigned. “You had to still be alive.”
    “Yes I am!” The boy waved the sword, flushed. “And I’ve captured these prisoners, look. They’re not Watch, either.”
    The bodyguards were shoved aside. Out from among them came a tiny man, his face narrow and sly, wide-lipped, his clothes masterpieces of gaudy show. Behind him, a girl in silver armor and a broad-chested bearded man stood, stock-still with amazement.
    The dwarf saw the Sekoi, and he paled. When he saw Raffi his face went ashen. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Then he turned around, and opened them.
    “Hello, Alberic,” Galen said quietly. The silence was terrible. Until Alberic snatched the sword from his nephew’s hand and began to beat him with it, mercilessly, viciously.
    “You useless, weak-kneed lump of clinker!” he howled. “You brainless, addle-headed flea off a rat’s back!”
    “What have I done!” the boy squeaked.
    “What have you done! You’ve brought me the one man I never, ever want to set eyes on as long as I live!”
    The Sekoi folded its arms. “You can see the family resemblance,” it said thoughtfully.

The Mirrors of Halen

8
    “What do you want?” the Emperor said.
    The great keeper, Imalan, bowed. “Mercy on your captives, lord. Let the Sekoi prisoners go free.”
    The Emperor stroked the small blue lapdog. “I am not in the mood for mercy,” he said quietly.
    Imalan answered, “It is the Makers who will persuade you, not I”.
     
    The Deeds of Imalan
    T HE SLIVER OF SUNLIGHT was like a wand—Soren’s wand, when she struck the flame trees and made them burn.
    Raffi lay with his eyes open, watching it. He was supposed to be making a dawn meditation, but the light distracted him; it had slid between the shutters and was glowing, a beautiful red, on the stones. Outside he could hear voices, the clatter of a bucket. After its exhausted night, the castle was waking.
    Galen had found this room. When Alberic had stormed off last night in a black fury, the keeper had only laughed and turned away. When the Sekoi had wondered innocently what they should do, he had said, “Sleep. Since we seem to be old friends of the new owner.” Now the creature still lay curled in its nest of stolen blankets, snoring softly.
    Raffi envied it. He had slept badly, tossing and turning, worrying over Carys, about himself. Since he had seen the Margrave clearly, since that moment of icy terror when it had whispered that it was searching for him, fear had kept coming back, in waves. Fear of the dark. Of silence. Even of dreaming. And how could he make the Deep Journey like this? For weeks he had only pretended to meditate, sitting with the beads clasped tight in his hands, repeating the Litany desperately to fill the silence, because if he stopped and let the third eye of the Makers open, that dreadful profile would creep back into his memory, the turning, misshapen face, the dry rustle of its reptilian skin.
     
     
    HIS BACK WAS WET WITH SWEAT, his heart thudding under his ribs. He flung the blankets off, tugged his jerkin on, and crossed to the window, lifting the bar and pushing the wooden shutters wide. Cold air swooped in. Behind him, the Sekoi groaned. Raffi leaned his elbows on the sill and looked down. The castle was eerily quiet. The stench of smoke was everywhere; far below him the inner gates were a mass of twisted metals and smoking, blackened stumps. Walls were scorched, battered into holes, but already, high above the keep, the Watch standard was down and a gaudy pennant of red and gold rippled in the mountain breeze. He rubbed sweat from his hair.
    “What’s it like out there?” the Sekoi murmured sleepily.
    “Quiet. Everyone’s under cover.”
    “Indeed. I wonder where we might get