Read The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign for Free Online Page A

sound was Isak’s breathing, ragged with pain and wrath.
    The broken figure slid slowly down the wall and crumpled in a corner like a doll. Isak stared down at the man, then at his hands. The rain was running red trails down the fingers of his left hand; the other was washed clean as he watched. Then, a little belatedly, he remembered the rest of the gang behind him and took off down the street. As Isak started to run again, the pack stirred into action and followed after him, baying for blood.
    Carts and stands that by day were overflowing with produce and wares of all kinds now stood empty and dripping: the Palace Walk Market was the largest in this part of the city, but tonight it was dead, offering the injured youth no hope of sanctuary. The only light came from the palace up ahead.
    The richer parts of the city cowered in the shadow of the fortress walls that surrounded the peak of the hill. Guard-towers dotted the length of the massive wall, but in a city famed for its spires it was the Tower of Semar that stood out. It rose up and up, impossibly high, a myth come to life, but myth or not, that was where Isak was headed.
     
    ‘You’re certain?’
    ‘Yes, my Lord.’ The soldier remained on one knee, sounding anything but certain, as though scarcely able to believe what he was telling his lord. ‘My Lord, I’m quite sure it was Hit. I was on the wall and I saw him appear as Chief Steward Lesarl was crossing from the barbican to the hall. They spoke, and then the Chief Steward showed him to the side door that leads to the tower stair.’
    ‘What was he carrying?’
    ‘How did—?’ His voice trailed off. You didn’t question the Master. ‘He had something in a sack, something bulky, and what looked like a sword.’
    Bahl sighed. There could be no doubt now. Isak really had been chosen by Nartis as Krann, the God-appointed heir to Lord Bahl and future Lord of the Farlan. White-eyes could only have children with their own kind, and female white-eyes were incredibly rare, so their patron God chose a successor rather than wait for acceptable progeny. The Gods would send gifts to place their Chosen above the rest of humankind, bestowing priceless weapons or talismans, tools to keep the tribe strong and safe.
    It wasn’t unheard of for Hit, the Messenger God, to bring the gifts, but it was far from common. It was a portent Bahl didn’t care for, especially when that God had gone to the steward of the palace rather than its lord. Bahl heard Aracnan’s words echo in his mind: This boy is trouble.
    They had headed towards the tower. Whatever the gifts were, it had obviously been deemed necessary to leave them in safer hands than his. The old lord sighed. He’d had enough surprises tonight, and the boy hadn’t even arrived yet.

CHAPTER 3
    The jutting barbican towers loomed large as Isak rounded the fountain in Barbican Square. He slipped on the rain-slicked cobbles, flopping down like a sodden rag. The jolt drove the wind from his lungs and pain flared in his bruised ribs. He rolled on to his back and stared up at the gloom of the night sky, blinking away the fat raindrops that fell into his eyes. A groan escaped his lips as he forced his head up, but then he saw the pack behind him, closing fast.
    Get up, you fool, fight the pain and run. The thought spurred him into action, forcing him up from the ground. He had only forty yards to go, so he lowered his head and sprinted for the drawbridge. Mercifully, it was down and he muttered a quick prayer of thanks to Nartis as he flew across. The light from the arrow-slit windows illuminated the rain that prickled the surface of the black moat water. In his desperation Isak had thought only to get into the protective lee of the gate-towers; now he slammed into the iron-bound gates and rebounded, scrabbling fruitlessly for a way to get inside.
    He brushed his sodden hair back from his forehead and wiped away the mixture of rain, blood and dirt to clear his eyes. As the