Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars Read Online Free

Malvae valued most in all the world was his Halek knife. Since the fight with his father, he'd had to work for every little thing and the crystal blade had cost him six months' pay on a bet.

    The hideous expense was the fault of the Halek. They refused to make more than ten knives a year, and eight of those were replacements for old blades broken or beyond their use. The new blades were cut from cold spires of rock crystal in the Halek homeland, then polished to a blue, translucent sheen. Blood grooves were sanded down each side and the blade bonded to an inlaid handle. Then the knife was charged and dedicated by a Halek wizard.

    The result was a weapon guaranteed to kill.

    There was no such thing as a minor wound from a Halek blade. Once it entered a living body -- and it would pierce any known skin, hide or armour -- fierce energies coursed through the victim, stopping his heart. There was nothing it wouldn't kill, neither man nor beast. But there was a chance the blade would shatter. When that happened, the energies flowed backwards to kill the man who held it. Thus Halek blades were more often used in threat than anger, but they were always comforting to have when times got tough.

    Pyrgus fingered the handle of his now. He had a feeling there was someone nasty watching him.

    It was a weird place to get that sort of feeling. He was on Loman Bridge, the vast, creaking structure with its ancient shops and houses that spanned the river north of Highgrove. Day or night, the bridge was always thronged. It attracted bumpkins like a lode-stone. They wandered slack-jawed past the shops and houses, waylaid by trulls, thieves, cutpurses, pickpockets, huggers, muggers, card sharps, thimble-riggers and assorted lowlife, not to mention the packs of greedy merchants who were the worst of the lot. Goods of every description were on sale, but you had to learn to haggle -- and recognise rubbish. Each merchant was as expert at extracting gold from a purse as any thief.

    "Ware!' someone shouted from above. Pyrgus stepped nimbly sideways to avoid the curdled contents of a chamber-pot slopped out from a high window. The move took him underneath the awning of an apothecary's cart and the feeling of being watched grew stronger. Pyrgus glanced cautiously around. He was surrounded by a thousand faces, most unwashed and none familiar.

    'A little chaos horn?' the apothecary stallholder whispered.

    Pyrgus glared at him so fiercely he took a step backwards. 'Sorree,' the stallholder said. 'Pardon me for breathing.' Greed caught hold again and his expression softened. 'Something else then? Gold attractors? A purple humunculus?'

    Pyrgus ignored him and stepped back into the heaving throng. His instincts were screaming at him now and he trusted them. He quickened his pace, elbowing his way through the crowd. A burly man with a shaven head cursed and tried to grab his jerkin, but Pyrgus dodged aside. He pushed and shoved and shouldered, ignoring all the protests, until he reached the far side of the bridge and left the river. There were fewer people here, but he still felt he was being watched. He headed towards Cheapside, neck hairs crawling as he waited for the hand on his shoulder.

    He knew what it was about, of course. Pyrgus had been caught leaving Lord Hairstreak's manor at an unsociable hour. Well, not caught exactly, but certainly spotted. The fact he was leaving by an upstairs window was probably what made the guards suspicious. Or it could have been that he was carrying Black Hairstreak's golden phoenix. Hairstreak wasn't the type to let anybody get away with that. He wasn't the type to go to court about it either. If his men caught up with Pyrgus now, he'd pay for the phoenix in broken bones and blood.

    Pyrgus wasn't sure if he was safer among people or alone. The trouble with crowds was that you could never tell friend from foe. Not until it was too late. And Hairstreak's men could leave him pulped before anybody found the courage to