Shadowcry by Jenna Burtenshaw Page B

his crow was perched patiently upon the gutter, fluffing its feathers against the wind. “Follow the boy,” he said. “Do not leave his side.”
    â€œEdgar?” Kate tried to pull free of her wrist chain, but the metal gripped tight. “What do you want him for? Leave him alone!”
    The crow clicked its beak and leaped into the air.
    â€œAs long as my crow is with him, I will be able to find him,” said Silas. “The Skilled may be able to do many things, but I possess a few tricks of my own. No one can escape me, Miss Winters. Not him. Not you.” Silas held Kate still, and she watched the bird fly away until its wingbeats were lost across the rooftops of the town. “Kalen earned his death many times over,” he said. “Your friend will have his own judgment to face. For now, you are my primary concern.”
    Silas pushed Kate farther down the barrow alley in the opposite direction to the market square, heading out into the maze that was the Southern Quarter’s back streets. Kate looked around, searching for someone who could help her, but the few people she could see were already running from the collector, too terrified to challenge him for the sake of one girl. Her town belonged to him now.
    Groups of robed wardens moved through the streets, herding frightened stragglers in the direction of the square, and Silas forced Kate to a stop as a black horse pulled a closed carriage along the road toward them. The carriage’s sides and roof had been red once, but the paint had long since peeled away, leaving scars of worn red and black. Kate could not see the driver’s face under the hood of his robes.
    The carriage stopped right beside them, and Silas unlatched the door. “Get in,” he said.

Chapter 5
Wintercraft
    E dgar ran through the Southern Quarter, keeping to the shadows, trying not to be seen. His hands were sweaty and his heart was racing. He hadn’t run this fast since . . . No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He felt like a coward. A collector had Kate and he was running in the opposite direction. Any ordinary person would have tried facing Silas, tried to fight him and force him to give her back. But this was not the first time Edgar had run from Silas Dane. Fighting him would get Edgar nowhere. He knew what he had to do.
    He kept running, ignoring the shouts of a few townspeople who were standing on doorsteps or leaning out of windows pointing at plumes of smoke rising from nearby fires. They must not have seen the wardens yet, but they were making enough noise to attract every one of them for a mile around.
    Dark clouds brought heavy flurries of snow from the north, darkening the sky and filling the air with falling flakes of white. Edgar dodged between the houses, looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere to plan, while above him, soaring high in the air, Silas’s crow followed silently behind.
    No one noticed the bird’s wide wings outstretched above the rooftops as it kept pace, following Edgar until he was forced to take shelter from the heavy snow in a decrepit old house. It watched him force his way in through a boarded window, then it settled on the cornerstone of a bakery roof like a perfect gargoyle, waiting for him to make his next move. And as it sat there, the town of Morvane changed.
    The snow lay like a blanket across the run-down streets of the Southern Quarter. Ruined roofs became beautiful again, dirty roads were given a fresh new mask of white, and everything sparkled in the rare patches of morning sun. The crow sat patiently, watching the door of the house until a comfortable carriage pulled by two gray horses rolled into sight, drawing the crow’s attention away. It stood, suddenly alert, cocked its head, and shook its feathers dry. The crow knew who was inside that carriage. It could sense the unwelcome presence of an enemy. Someone it had learned to fear.
    Instinct told it to fly, but duty to its