Shadowmasque Read Online Free

master. You’ll be wanting to see it.”
    Stunned by the terrible news, Corlek stumbled after him in the darkness, following the gleams of his hooded lamp through the night and back into the dense foliage of the coppice. Rugal led him into its heart where the oldest trees grew, safe from cutting, and behind a screen of vines and dog-ivy he opened the lamp’s shutter a good way and held it higher for Corlek to see.
    In some past year lightning had struck one of the elder trees, leaving it a stump from which smaller limbs had sprouted. The trunk itself had later been shaped by a wood carver, whittled into a finely detailed sculpture of leaves and berries and entwining vines, in the midst of which were the faces of Corlek’s mother and brother, eyes closed but smiling as if in peace. Below their images three small, tiered shelves had been carved into the wood, each one bearing a number of thimble-sized votive candles. Rainwater had gathered in each one’s tiny flame-melted cavity.
    As he reached out to touch the beautifully rendered faces, the tears came at last, silently in the silence.
    No family, no bodies, no bones, and no graves,
he thought emptily.
No home, no hope…
    “Nothing left but my name,” he murmured.
    “And your honour, young master,” said Rugal. “And the skill of your hand and the sharpness of your eye. And the path that the Earthmother is making for you.”
    Corlek felt a hot tear trickle down his cheek.
    “You’re still a believer, then, Rugal.”
    “That I am, master Corlek. In the liturgy of the Mother it says ‘Great sorrow is preparation for great joy’, and I believe that is true.”
    “I envy you,” he said, then paused as a faint pattering and the quivering of leaves announced a passing shower. Taking off his hat he raised his face to the cold raindrops for a moment or two before letting Rugal lead him out of the coppice. The old servant closed his lamp’s aperture down to a gleam, just enough to show the way back to the secret exit in the palisade earthwork. When Corlek realised where they were going, a certain realisation roused him from grief.
    “You knew,” he said. “You knew about our hidden door.”
    Rugal chuckled in the darkness. “Of course, and it was me who planted those bushes on either side of the wall. Thought an escape hole might come in handy…”
    Nearing the wall they both fell silent and moved in a stealthy crouch. At the concealed hatch Rugal knelt to tug it loose he whispered to Corlek an address and a name.
    “They are old friends of my family,” he said. “Tell them you were sent by Father Wolf, young master, and they will keep you safe and fed for a time. Then we’ll find somewhere safe outside Sejeend for you to go, though when Ilgarion is crowned peace will become a rare commodity and nowhere will be safe.”
    “What do you mean?” Corlek said.
    “You may not have heard but in the last week those fanatical Carver-worshipping Mogaun routed Mantinor’s largest army. And what with that Carver prophet uniting the Jefren templarchies…”
    Corlek shook his head, having only heard vague rumours about the threat which Carver worship-dominated Anghatan posed to Eastern Honjir, which had been an Imperial protectorate for nearly fifty years. But he had found that difficult to take seriously since the Nagira mountains lay between the two countries.
    Next to him, the grassy hatch came away in Rugal’s hands and Corlek crouched down to crawl through, pausing to look back at the old servant.
    “Thank you, Rugal — thank you for kindness and for the shrine. It was….more than fitting….”
    “I would have done more, had it been possible, master Corlek. Now, I wish you good health and a long life, both of which you are more likely to find someplace other than in this city. That is my advice, which I am sure you’ll not be taking.”
    Corlek gave a bleak smile, then said: “Perhaps I will, Rugal, but for the moment tell me the name of the people who own