Free Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) by Sam Bowring Page A

seen for leagues in these flat grasslands, and they were still close to Whisperwood. He set about piling earth on the flames, sending glances towards the baby boy. Who was watching him.
    It was fortunate that the Halls wouldn’t know, for a while at least, that this second child existed. Without witnesses to tell them otherwise, they’d assume that their blue-haired boy was the only one. Nevertheless, Tyrellan was bothered. He had a good working knowledge of magic, despite not being able to wield it, but he had no idea why there were two boys. It was a puzzle, he decided, for the Shadowdreamer. He simply had to deliver the boy he did possess.
    The fire was out. Tyrellan understood why Rhobi had lit it, but his subordinate was far too limited in his thinking. While he found such physical contact deeply offensive, Tyrellan knew that the best way to keep the boy warm without alerting others to their presence was to huddle against him while they slept. Not that Tyrellan ever really slept.
    With nothing to do save wait for the cover of night, he turned his attention to the child. The boy lay still, but strangely alert. His eyes followed as Tyrellan crouched over him, brown pupils set in the clearest whites the goblin had ever seen. His blue hair was a limp mess of strands atop his head, and his skin was almost ivory. Tyrellan reached down to poke him in a stomach devoid of the usual chubby fat. Suddenly the boy smiled and caught Tyrellan’s poking claw with a tiny hand. Tyrellan started.
    Many shadow creatures were pale in their looks. The Arabodedas, hard men of the south, had skin pale from generations spent in the absence of sunlight. This boy was even paler than they were, though his face seemed to hide a darkness behind it, like a mask. Tyrellan grew lost in admiration, even forgetting for a moment the disturbing sensations the cursed mage-bitch had left in his gut. It was a strange thing, that a creature born so far from Fenvarrow would have such a dark aura about it. It had troubled Tyrellan that his master sought a child who should, by rights, have been strong in the light. He’d assumed Battu intended to turn the child somehow into a creature of shadow. Now he had a feeling that this babe needed no such conversion.
    Tyrellan decided the boy was blessed, and thus his safeguarding was a grave honour and responsibility. He silently swore to watch over the boy always, protecting him as he grew to power.
    •
    In Whisperwood, at the base of a blackened tree, ashes stirred as if there was a breeze. Floating low across the ground, they began to collect around pieces of scorched bone.

Six / Through Dead Eyes
    Six
    Through Dead Eyes
    Through Dead Eyes
    Borgordus was the northernmost of the five states of Kainordas. A fertile region of hill, farm and wood, it was said that here the sun passed closest to the land, as it rose from behind the Morningbridge Peaks. It was also here that the Thrones kept their stronghold, the Open Halls.
    The Halls were built on a green plateau above the capital city, Kadass. Both Halls and Kadass were enclosed by stone walls: two great circles connected by a corridor that provided protected passage in a time of war – though no enemy army had ever penetrated that far. The Halls themselves were a collection of white buildings great and small, but all constructed without roofs. In buildings over a storey high, many of the outside walls were missing as well. These skeleton structures were open to air and light and the lazy breezes that rolled in from the Shallow Sea. An ancient enchantment diverted rain from falling into these roofless dwellings, and a form of subtle magnetism kept anyone from falling from high open places or exposed stairwells. The only way to fall was to be pushed, or to leap deliberately. The Halls were quiet too, for the enchantment stopped sound floating freely out of rooms for all to hear, and blurred the vision of anyone who tried to peer directly into another’s home. The