Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [1]
No one seemed to notice his disappearance. Grinning to himself, Caelan crouched low in his hiding place and waited impatiently for the courtyard to clear. The stone blocks at his back were very cold, and he had no cloak or mittens. Sucking in his breath, he tucked his hands in the wide sleeves of his grubby novice robe and felt content. This was freedom, tiny moments stolen at every opportunity to escape the tedium of his life here.
Tonight the serfs seemed slower than usual in finishing their chores. Drumming his fingers on his knees, Caelan listened to the cadenced sounds coming from the road outside the walls and mentally urged the serfs to hurry.
Finally the cobbles were swept clean of straw, mud, and leaves. The women hastened to finish gathering the laundry, and the carts holding apple baskets from the harvest were rowed up neatly along a wall. Even the well rope had to be coiled neatly over the crossbar. Nothing could be left undone or untidy, lest it attract the mischief of the wind spirits that blew at night.
Already the breeze was picking up, sweeping down even into Caelan’s hiding place. Pine-scented and frosty, the air held a promise of snow.
He shivered and didn’t care. The serfs were gathering the last of their tools and heading for the hall. From the tower, the Quarl Bell began to toll the first of its nine solemn counts, calling all inhabitants of Rieschelhold indoors to safety.
The sound of the bell made Caelan crouch forward.
Everyone would hurry now to get inside. It was the best part of the day. Besides, if his absence hadn’t been noticed by now, it was unlikely to be. He had to stay after class so often for punishment drills that his fellow novices wouldn’t even notice his failure to show for washing up.
He’d be inside by darkfall, and at the table for supper. The proctors counted heads at supper and made a bed check at lights out. The rules here were strict, but the ironclad routine made it easy to dodge most of what he really wanted to avoid. He just had to pick the right moments.
Like now.
Scooting past the cider kegs, he dashed for the steps leading up to the ramparts of the wall. Bending double, he scuttled along below the crenellations until he reached the open-topped lookout turret near the main gates.
Inside the circle of brick, he could not be seen from the courtyard.
Grinning broadly, Caelan flung himself at the sloped tip of a crenellation and balanced there on his stomach with his toes barely touching the ground.
From up here he had sweeping views of the surrounding marshlands and forest. A place of evil mists said to shelter wind spirits and the evil spawn of the shadow gods, the marshlands were mysterious and forbidden. Even now, a dank fog could be seen rising above them, gilded on top by the sunset. The sky was tinted a muted gold, with streaks of coral and indigo. Winter geese flew overhead in a ragged V formation, calling plaintively. The wind nipped bitterly at his uncovered ears and blew his hair into his eyes, but he didn’t mind.
He was in time to see the soldiers.
All day he’d been obliged to do his chores and work at his lessons, while in the distance came a steady tramping of feet along the imperial road that passed beside Rieschelhold. Word had passed among all the boys—imperial troops were marching home from the border wars.
None of the masters would release classes even for a few minutes so the boys could see the army. Rieschelhold clung to its routine no matter what the rest of the world did. But alone of all the students, Caelan refused to miss this opportunity.
Now, at last, he saw them, and it was a sight worth the risk of lingering out here past the forbidden hour.
The fading sunlight reflected off the burnished spear tips of more men than Caelan could count.
His mouth dropped open at the sheer size of the army. They filled the road, as far as the eye could see in either direction, marching ten men abreast. Never in his life had he seen