The Shock of Night (The Darkwater Saga)
Patrick W. Carr
Patrick Carr Launches a New Suspense-filled Fantasy Epic
When one man is brutally murdered and the priest he works for mortally wounded on the streets of Bunard, Willet Dura is called to investigate. Yet the clues to the crime lead to contradictions and questions without answers. As Willet begins to question the dying priest, the man pulls Willet close and screams in a foreign tongue. Then he dies without another word.
Willet returns to the city, no closer to answers than before, but his senses are skewed. People he touches appear to have a subtle shift, a twist seen at the edge of his vision, and it's as though he can see their deepest thoughts. In a world divided between haves and have-nots, gifted and common, Willet soon learns he's been passed the rarest gift of all: a gift that's not supposed to exist.
Now Willet must pursue the murderer still on the loose in Bunard even as he's pulled into a much more dangerous and epic conflict that threatens not only his city, but his entire world--a conflict that will force him to come to terms with his own tortured past if he wants to survive.
thought long dead. Bolt and I first encountered them two nights ago on the bridge leading to the poor quarter.” Pellin spoke. “Your Majesty, it should be noted that Willet Dura’s guard mortally injured two of those three men, but your vassal killed them before they could be questioned.” Laidir eyed Pellin, the flush creeping up his neck once more. “In this room he will be addressed by his rightfully earned title. The proper form of address is Lord Dura. I don’t repeat myself.” He turned from
for a moment before his mouth tightened and he stepped close enough to pick my pocket, though he kept his hands at his sides. “That’s going to cost you, yah? There are some things you don’t jest about.” I lowered my voice to match his whisper. “I’m not joking, Rory. The church is desperate, and we need help. They’ve promised a home to every urchin who wants one.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe you. If people wanted to help us, they would have done it. As soon as your danger is over,
about the package I gave you.” A twinge of guilt at asking the question in the midst of Gael’s distress tightened my throat. Bless her, she didn’t accuse me of anything. She shook her head. “He’s still checking it. It’s small so he has to exercise care not to destroy it by his alchemy.” I nodded. There hadn’t been much to the sliver, but if anyone could pull information from that minuscule amount, Myle could. Giving Gael a quick embrace, I stepped toward the door. “It’s getting late, and you
of our counsel and have him return to Owmead. I want him to find someone from the last war who saw Dura and his men enter the Darkwater. There is nothing he can do for us here, but bring his journals. I want to know why Willet Dura has been walking the streets of Bunard.” “You don’t trust Laewan,” Bronwyn accused. “Not true.” Pellin shook his head. “I don’t trust his youth. At the very least, Dura is a night-walker. Laewan should have delved him long ago.” Bronwyn pursed her lips as though she
measure of Bolt. He wouldn’t bother to lie. “Why?” “We don’t know,” Pellin said. “But we believe Elwin was close to finding out.” “And was killed for it,” I said. I thought of the shard of aurium I’d taken from his body and then thrust the memory away. I wouldn’t trust Pellin. Not yet. My training and experience as reeve took over, and in my mind I stepped back, seeing the players in the scene, even myself, as pawns on a ficheall board to be moved. I checked that. I might be a pawn, but Pellin