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Back The Dying of the Light Save as PDF
Chapters (115)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Table of Contents
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
  87. 82
  88. 83
  89. 84
  90. 85
  91. 86
  92. 87
  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
  96. 91
  97. 92
  98. 93
  99. 94
  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
  105. 100
  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. Also by Derek Landy
  115. About the Publisher

She reset it, her hands shaking, the world moving much too fast and much too slow. Reset it and the sigils started lighting up.

Come on. Come on.

You’ve killed her.

Come on. Work. Please.

You’ve killed her.

The star pulsed.

And those beautiful eyes snapped open and Alice let out a wail.

Valkyrie grabbed her, hugging her so, so tight. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, please forgive me, please.”

Alice just cried and cried, scared and hurt, and Valkyrie cried with her, relieved but distraught. She’d killed her sister. No matter what else she did with her life from this moment on, she could never escape the fact that she had knowingly and voluntarily killed her own sister. And she didn’t even have Darquesse to blame it on.

92

Fighting naked was an extremely liberating experience.

Tanith dodged back, deep into the Combat Circle, her bare feet sure on the ground, and the Black Cleaver came at her again. She blocked his slash and kicked at his leg for the fourth time. He lurched left, kept her at bay with his scythe. She glanced down, saw his swollen knee repair itself. It was still an uneven battle, but it was no longer so weighted against her. One good swipe was all Tanith needed to separate his head from his body, and with this renewed optimism, fresh strength poured into her arms.

She pressed the attack. Now that she could see his face she was no longer in any danger of being gripped by the same kind of fear that had turned her into a clumsy, awkward fighter. His face was unremarkable. His head was shaved, as all Cleavers were. His eyes were dull. His skin was pale. His head, like his body, was an intricate jigsaw of scarring. Tanith had heard that Doctor Nye had put him back together, piece by tiny piece, and it hadn’t been overly concerned about the aesthetic quality of what it was doing.

Tanith’s sword drew a line of black blood across the Cleaver’s chest, adding a new scar to his collection. She hoped he liked it. She batted his blade to one side and slashed again, caught his leg, then went up high, angling for his neck. At the last moment, he snapped his head away and she found herself overextended. He whirled, the snaith taking her feet from under her.