Gold Throne in Shadow Read Online Free Page A

surprisingly blasé about bringing people back from the dead.
    â€œNo, he came out of the Wild alive, if not whole,” Faren growled. “But you cannot revive him now. Having chosen to walk through the door, he will not change his mind on the other side.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?” Christopher asked, alarmed. “What do you mean ‘chosen’?”
    â€œExactly what it sounds like,” Faren snapped, exasperated at Christopher’s lack of subtlety. “When your men came stumbling impossibly out of the Wild, Stephram hung his head in shame for days. And then, while you lay dead in the King’s castle, he went into a copse close to the city, slung a rope over a tree, and put his head in the noose.”
    â€œBut why?” Christopher demanded, stunned and angry. He’d counted Stephram as a friend. How could the man do this to him? Or himself, for that matter.
    â€œI don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
    Christopher bit back a retort. It wasn’t the Cardinal’s fault. And Faren had counted Stephram as a Brother, too.
    â€œI was serious,” Faren said after an uncomfortable silence. “Necromancy is barred to us, but not to you. If you would have questions, then look to his ghost for answers. The experience might be salutary for you. Not for me,” Faren added sourly. “I know all I need to know. But perhaps you should test your new powers, while you are still in safe lands.”

    So now they stood in a little wood, on the edge of farmlands that surrounded the city. The tree they faced looked innocent enough, under the shining sun, the warm summer breeze ruffling its green leaves. It did not seem auspicious circumstances for speaking with the dead.
    â€œHis corpse is already ash,” Faren said. Raising zombies was another ugly possibility in this world; burning bodies was a standard precaution. “But this is the site of his death, and you know his name and the time of his passing, so you have what you need, I think.
    â€œUnderstand,” the Cardinal warned, “it is not really his spirit you summon, only a seeming. The dead cannot form new thoughts or hold feelings beyond the length of your spell. Yet they retain the will they had in life, and Stephram died angry, so be prepared for hurtful words. Remember that this is only a shadow of our Brother, and not the wholeness of his life and deeds.”
    â€œWhat about harmful actions?” Torme asked, pale-faced. He was the only other person present and clearly unhappy about dealing with ghosts.
    Faren was unmoved. This was practical theology, after all, and therefore fell under the domain of educational activities, which excused all manner of dangerous shenanigans. “It is not a real ghost,” he said dismissively, “only an illusion. In any case I think my power is sufficient to deal with ghosts.”
    Christopher was not so sanguine, but he had to learn to master the abilities his rank had bought him. Better here with the Cardinal at his side than later. The process of gaining ranks was a surprisingly empty feeling; the only definitive change was the broader selection of fiery pictographs offered by the hallucinatory animated suit of armor during his morning trances. These represented spells, increased privileges of serving the Marshall of Heaven opened up by his advanced rank. Now he chanted the words of one of the newest ones and was unhappily rewarded with a wisp of unnatural mist rising from the ground. The quality of sunlight seemed to fade, and Christopher thought to feel a coolness in the air, as if some old and musty basement door had been opened.
    The white vapor condensed into a credible vision of Stephram hanging from a tree by the neck, his hands bound behind him. The body twitched and kicked, slowly suffocating, and Christopher leaned forward automatically to help. But the Cardinal put out a hand to stop him, shaking his head