Beyond The Shadows by Brent Weeks Page B

given a duty to take her away from the massacre.
    Logan changed tack. “Kylar, I know you think you’re a bad man, but I’ve never seen anyone who will go to the lengths you will
     to do what you’ve decided is right. You are an amazingly moral man, and I trust you, and you’re my best friend.” Logan looked
     steadily at Kylar to let him read the truth.
    Kylar gave a sarcastic, you-can’t-be-serious grimace that slowly melted. The tension left his face as the truth sank in. Logan
     meant every word. Kylar blinked suddenly. Once, twice, and then looked away.
    Oh, my friend, what have you gone through that being called moral nearly makes you weep? Or was it being called friend? Logan thought. He had been isolated for months in the Hole and found it hell. Kylar had been isolated for his entire life.
    “But?” Kylar asked.
    Logan heaved a deep sigh. “Not stupid either, are you?” Kylar flashed that old mischievous grin, and Logan loved him fiercely.
     “But you were a wetboy, Kylar, and now you’re something even more dangerous. I can’t claim that I don’t know what you might
     do to Terah—”
    “Do you really trust me?” Kylar interrupted.
    Logan paused, maybe for too long. “Yes,” he said finally.
    “Then this conversation is finished.”
    16
    Dorian,” Jenine said, “I think you should come look at this.”
    He stepped to the window and looked out over Khaliras. Marching into the city were twenty thousand soldiers, two thousand
     horse, and two hundred meisters. Dorian’s little brother Paerik had returned from the Freeze. Serfs were piling out of the
     way of a group of horsemen who had advanced before the army. Dorian didn’t have to see the banners to know it had to be Paerik
     himself.
    Dorian and Jenine ran down the stairs two at a time, winding down and down to the base of the Tygre Tower. The grim cats favored
     him with their fanged smiles, mocking him. There was still time. If they could get to the front gate, they could cross Luxbridge
     a few minutes before Paerik arrived.
    As always, the slaves’ tunnels were dark. In the distance, figures clashed with sword and spell, but Dorian was able to take
     them around the worst of the fray. He could See his half-brothers from a great distance.
    The path they were forced to take took them down a rough hewn stone tunnel past the Khalirium, where the goddess resided.
     The very stone down here stank of vir. Dorian rounded a corner a mere hundred paces from the castle’s front gate and found
     himself staring at the back of an aetheling. Usually, he would have Seen the young man, but the proximity of the Khalirium
     confused him. He froze. Jenine yanked him back into the rough tunnel.
    “Khali’s not here!” the aetheling said.
    Someone else cursed. “Moburu really took her to Cenaria? Damn him. He really does think he’s the High King.”
    “So much for seizing Khali. What do we do now?” the first asked.
    Khali was still in Cenaria? No wonder it didn’t feel quite as oppressive down here as Dorian remembered.
    “We gotta join Draef. If we help him stop Paerik at the bridge, he might let us live. Paerik or Tavi will kill us no matter
     what.”
    Dorian and Jenine scooted back into the tunnel as quickly and as quietly as they could, but it was almost fifty paces before
     it intersected with another hallway. No way they could run that far without the aethelings hearing or seeing them. As soon
     as they found a large cavity in the rough wall, Dorian pushed Jenine into it and then pressed himself as close as he could,
     but his thin sleeve caught on the stone and tore.
    One of the aethelings stepped into the tunnel and raised his staff. A flame blazed up on it, illuminating the hall and his
     face. He was perhaps fourteen, as was the youth beside him. Both were short and slender and homely, bearing little of their
     father’s robust good looks, and only a small portion of his power.
    I can take them. Even with southern magic, Dorian was