Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris) Read Online Free Page B

a switching.”
    “Jesely?”
    “Yes, I told you I was going to see him.”
    “So you did. I forgot. What did he say?”
    “He asked about my lessons with Master Olendis and I told him about hearing lots of kye. He said he’d heard of something like that a few years ago and he’d look into it for me—see if he could find out what happened to the other changer. If he never learned to control it, at least I’d be forewarned.”
    Casian’s temper showed signs of fraying.
    “So he’s still spending time on you. Time he could be using helping me find my higher-level kye. Time that I’m wasting trying to rise to the rank of master while Elyta presses on ahead of me. She will get the next council space and I’ll still be a bloody journeyman!”
    “But you can’t be a councillor until you are a master.”
    “I know that. But Jesely is far more interested in you. I’m the only Irenthi changer they have—the only one! Don’t you think it would benefit them to have me on the council? And he wastes his time with you. You can’t write neatly but you can draw perfect bloody daisies!”
    Casian pulled the parchment from Sylas’s hands and ripped it from top to bottom.
    Sylas stared numbly at his ruined work. The harsh words—they meant nothing and would soon be forgotten on both sides. Casian had a short temper sometimes, and maybe what he said was right. Maybe Jesely should be concentrating his time and efforts on Casian. But Sylas did so want to be a changer.
    “Why are you disturbing my student, Casian Owlchanger?” They both whirled round at the voice behind them. Neither had noticed Master Gwysias’s approach. Sylas licked his lips, reaching for the parchment, intending to hide it beneath the book from which he copied. Casian knocked his hand away and grasped both pieces.
    “I was reprimanding him.” Casian held out the parchment. “He has been drawing on his work.”
    “I see,” Master Gwysias came closer. A short man, with straggly hair turning to grey, he held the two pieces together and peered down his nose at the writing. “Shocking. Quite shocking.” And then he glanced at the drawings.
    “Do you think parchment is in such plentiful supply that you can draw pictures on it, heh?”
    “No, Master,” said Sylas, hanging his head and knowing what was coming.
    “I don’t see what else I can do for you. I have been teaching you for nearly a year and I can see little improvement. Most novices come to me already able to write better than this. Hold out your hand, boy.”
    Sylas turned his hand palm up and waited, anticipating the blow. The length of plaited blade grass, all too similar (albeit narrower, with a sharper bite) to his father’s belt woven from the same, whistled through the air and cut into his skin, leaving a reddened welt across the soft gold of his palm. Sylas could feel his colour rise. It was bad enough to be switched like a child without Casian witnessing it.
    “Shows we shouldn’t waste time trying to educate Chesammos, eh, Master Gwysias?” Casian said. “Master Jesely and Master Cowin excepted, of course. For the rest of them, the right place is in the desert, doing what they know.”
    Casian left in Gwysias’s company with never a backward glance for Sylas, continuing his pretence of the lofty nobleman. Except it wasn’t a pretence. He was a nobleman. Even after all this time, Sylas could never be entirely sure that Casian didn’t believe what he said.
    Sylas clenched his stinging palm, aware from bitter experience that the hand would be stiff in the morning. The welt was matched by the blow to his pride, and the sudden pain in his chest was the price he paid for loving above his station. This was the cost of loving an Irenthi.

Chapter 3
    Y estro clawed his way out of the vent and dragged the mask off his face. On the surface, in what passed for fresh air in the ash desert, he could at last stand upright. That had been one of the tightest vents yet. His back muscles