Sara Reinke - Tiralainn 01 - Book of Thieves.pdf - Sara Reinke - widez2

Book of Thieves

Published in the United States by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double

Dragon Publishing Inc., Markham, Ontario Canada.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in

writing from Double Dragon Publishing.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products

of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events

or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Double Dragon eBook

Published by

Double Dragon Publishing, Inc.

PO Box 54016

1-5762 Highway 7 East

Markham, Ontario L3P 7Y4 Canada

www.double-dragon-ebooks.com

www.double-dragon-publishing.com

ISBN-10: 1-55404-396-4

ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-396-5

A DDP First Edition October 16, 2006

Book Layout and

Cover Art by Deron Douglas

www.derondouglas.com

BOOK OF THIEVES

BOOK TWO IN THE CHRONICLES OF TIRALAINN SERIES

Sara Reinke

PROLOGUE

The year 1748 of the Third Age

Rhyden Fabhcun stirred from sleep at the sound of heavy, urgent knocking. His

eyelids fluttered open and he blinked groggily at the ceiling above his bed. Dawn had

yet to grace the horizon, and the waning moon's pale illumination cast misshapen

shadows of heavy tree boughs waving in faint breeze over his head.

The rapping continued, growing louder and more insistent with each passing breath.

It came from beyond his bed chamber, from the main threshold of his flat, and the

noise carried through the spacious rooms, amplified between the vaulted ceilings and

polished floors until it resounded like strikes against a drum.

Rhyden groaned, sitting up in bed. His blond hair fell in thick sheafs over his

shoulders and draped down his back, spilling in a heavy tumble against the mattress.

He tucked wayward strands behind the tapered points of his ears. He was a

full-blooded Gaeilge Elf, and to his preternaturally sensitive hearing, the beating

against the door sounded all the more resonant and thunderous.

He wondered why Peymus had not answered the door. Like Rhyden, Peymus Beith

was Gaeilge, and his room, a modest antechamber adjoining Rhyden's, was closer to

the main parlor. If the clamor had roused Rhyden from sound slumber, surely it had

disturbed Peymus as well, and it was unlike the steward to let such matters go

unattended.

Rhyden swung his legs from beneath folds of blankets and coverlets, letting his feet

settle against the floor. He stood, taking his dressing robe in hand and slipping his

arms into it as he shuffled toward his chamber door.

He opened the door and peered out across the spread of shadow and moonlight that

filled his parlor. To his left, he could see Peymus’ door standing partially ajar, but of

the steward, there was no sign.

"Pey?” Rhyden called out in a hoarse, quiet voice. The knocking continued in

unabated and persistent earnest. Tree limbs brushed against the towering windows

framing the parlor, their leafy crowns whispering against the glass panes in a sudden

gust of wind. Rhyden's shadow pooled beneath his feet, spreading slightly before

him as he stepped toward the front door, walking across a splayed corner of

moonbeam.

"Pey?” Rhyden said again. He paused in Peymus’ doorway, peering beyond the

threshold. He saw Peymus’ bed was empty, his blankets folded to one side in a

rumpled, hasty pile, as though Peymus had clambered out of bed, abandoning them.

There was no sign of the Elf in the chamber, or in the parlor besides, and puzzled,

Rhyden frowned.

He went to the front door. As he settled his palm against the brass handle, the heavy,

resounding knocking abruptly ceased. He arched his brow and canted his cheek

toward the door, listening through the wood.

"Who is there?” he said.

He heard a shuddering, hitching breath issue from the other side of the wood; a

woman's fluttering voice, struggling to contain sobs.

"Rhyden?” he heard the woman say, and his heart seized suddenly within his chest,

his breath tangling against the back of his throat. He recognized the voice, and he

jerked the door open wide in startled, bewildered alarm.

"Qynh...?” he gasped in utter disbelief.

"Oh ... Oh, Rhyden...” the woman, Qynh, said, staring at him. She was nearly as tall

as he was, her beautiful face most familiar to him. She gazed at him with enormous,

tear-filled eyes the cerulean hue of a calm sea at midmorrow, her long black hair

spilling nearly to her waist in a cascade of glossy waves. Her pale complexion and

cream-hued flesh were nearly luminescent in the moonlight and her bottom lip

trembled as she tried not to weep.

"Qynh,” Rhyden whispered again, reaching for her. She stepped toward him, her

arms sliding beneath the edges of his robe, encircling his waist. She pressed herself

against him, clutching at him, her cheek against his chest, her face turned toward his

shoulder, as she burst into tears.

"Qynh,” Rhyden breathed again, folding his arm about her narrow shoulders and

pressing his palm against her hair. “My Queen..."

He closed the door and led her to a chair in the parlor. She sat quietly, her hands

folded in her lap, her fingers twining anxiously together as he struck flints to a lamp,

offering a dim, golden glow to the room. Only then did Rhyden realize that the

Queen of Tiralainn somehow paid call to him in naught save her linen nightgown; she

sat before him as though she herself had only just risen from her bed at the royal

palace, with her hair somewhat askew, her feet bare.

Such circumstances were not possible and her presence completely baffled him.

Qynh was many long, hundreds of miles hence, across the Muir Fuar sea in

Belgaeran, the island of Tiralainn's royal city. Rhyden served as ambassador to the

Torachan empire, on the mainland continent of the Morthir for Qynh's husband,

Kierken, the King of Tiralainn, and their neighboring territory, the Abhacan realm of

Tirurnua. His flat was in the bustling heart of Torach, the capital city of Cneas, and

Rhyden had called this his home for thirteen years. It had been nearly five years in

full since he had last been able to visit his homeland and visit with Qynh in person.

Rhyden knelt before Qynh, reaching out and drawing her hands between his own.

“Qynh,” he said, drawing her gaze from the nest of her lap. “How did you get here?"

Sara Reinke - Tiralainn 01 - Book of Thieves.pdf

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