Free Requiem for the Sun by Elizabeth Haydon Page A

go?”
    The silence swelled around him in the dark. When the voice spoke again, it burned with menace, stinging his ears and the inside of his brain.
    An explanation, to begin with.
    The seneschal inhaled deeply. “I’ve had some news today that someone who owes me a very great debt, an oath struck on the Island of Serendair before the Great Cataclysm, survived the awakening of the Sleeping Child and is alive.” He let his breath out with the words. “I need to collect on that debt.”
    Why? the burning voice demanded. Send a lackey .

    Wisely the seneschal swallowed the retort that rose, unbidden, to his lips. It was not prudent to enflame the baron.
    â€œThat is not possible, m’lord,” he said in a measured, respectful tone. “This is something to which I must attend personally. I assure you, however, the prize with which I will return will be more than worth my absence.”
    In your estimation, perhaps. But mayhap not in mine. The anger in the voice seared the inside of the seneschal’s head. If you leave, who will procure the slaves? Maintain the terror? Who will sit in the judiciary? Attend to the burnings? Who will fulfill the law?
    The seneschal’s eyes burned red at the edges in response as he struggled against his own wild ire.
    â€œThe infrastructure is well in place, m’lord. All of that will be done, and more.” Impulsively he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. When he spoke, his voice carried an excitement that the expansive darkness of the room could barely contain. “But to please m’lord, before I go I will attend to your will. I will accomplish a rash of burnings sufficient to light the sky to a crimson glow that will linger for days! I will move up the dockets, deploy the fleet, set in motion whatever m’lord desires. But I must leave with the tide ere morning; I have a contract to enforce.” He raised his eyes to the darkness again. “An oath to make someone uphold.”
    The silence echoed around him. The seneschal stared into the endless darkness, waiting.
    Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the voice spoke. It was filled with reluctance, a disappointment that was palpable.
    Very well. But be certain to return as soon as you have claimed whatever is owed to you.
    The seneschal rose quickly and bowed from the waist.
    â€œI will, m’lord. Thank you.”
    The dark voice spoke softly, the tone in its words fading into the blackness again.
    You may go now.
    The seneschal bowed once more. He backed away in the darkness, feeling for the handle of the door. Once he found it, he opened it, stepped through quickly, and closed the door behind him, taking his leave.
    Of a completely empty room.

Yellow

    Light Bringer, Light Queller
    Merte-mi

    3
    THIEVES’ MARKET, YARIM PAAR
    I t never failed to amaze Slith how much power could reside in a single word, a word that was merely someone’s name.
    Particularly Esten’s name.
    Now as he followed Bonnard’s quivering form, the rolls of flesh vibrating with each step along the cobbled alleys of the Market of Thieves through which they were traveling, he pondered whether invoking that name had been wise or not.
    Bonnard’s sneer, upon finding him shirking his duties in the privy, had melted quickly into an expression that straddled the border between consternation and fear when he had uttered his need to be taken to the guildmistress. Slith cast his eyes down at the dusty red cobblestones and smiled to himself, remembering their exchange.
    What — what would the likes of you need to see Esten about?
    Certain you wish to know, Bonnard? That will make you the only other one besides me.
    The journeyman had considered the question for the span of ten heartbeats, then scowled, shook his great jowled head quickly, and motioned for Slith to follow him.
    Now, as they traveled deeper into the Market of Thieves, Slith wondered whether invoking that name had been