[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Would she send Haltwhistle away? And Mistaya as well?
Mistaya s mouth tightened. Well, it didn t make any difference if the mud puppy wasn t there. She might
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as well find out before she worried about any of the rest of it.
Haltwhistle, she said softly, almost inaudibly.
Instantly the mud puppy was next to her, staring down at her from out of the darkness with those great,
soulful eyes. Elated, she started to reach for him and stopped. You must never touch a mud puppy, the
Earth Mother had warned. Never.
Hey, boy, she whispered, smiling. Haltwhistle thumped his odd tail in response.
Did you call, Mistaya? Nightshade said from out of the darkness in front of her, and Mistaya s head
jerked up sharply. Abruptly, the Witch of the Deep Fell appeared, bending over her. Did you say
something?
Mistaya blinked and looked down for Haltwhistle. The mud puppy had disappeared. No, nothing. I
must have been talking in my sleep.
Good night, then, the witch said, and slipped away again.
Good night, Mistaya said.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked again for Haltwhistle. The mud puppy
appeared anew, materializing out of the night. She watched him for a moment, smiling. Then she closed
her eyes and was asleep.
Bumbershoot
The instant Nightshade s witch fire enveloped them, Landover disappeared and time stopped. Soft,
gauzy light cocooned Abernathy, and he lost sight of Questor Thews completely. He drifted, suspended
in the light, wrapped in silence and consumed by a numbness that emptied him of all feeling. He did not
know what was happening to him. He supposed that he was dead and that this was what dying felt like,
but he wasn t sure. He tried to move and couldn t. He tried to see beyond the white brightness
surrounding him and couldn t do that, either. He could barely manage to form a coherent thought. He
didn t even know if he was breathing.
Then the light disappeared in a sudden rush of wind and brilliant colors, and the sights, sounds, tastes,
and smells of life rushed back into focus with brilliant clarity. The lake country was gone. He was pretty
sure that Landover itself was gone, as well. He was sitting on a grassy flat that spread all around a great
stone basin. A fountain at the center of the basin spouted a plume of water that arched high into the air in
a feathery spray. Light caught the water and created small, shimmering rainbows. People were seated all
across the lawn and at the edge of the fountain. Children played in the fountain, having ventured down
into the shallow stone bowl, darting in and out of the spray, laughing and teasing one another. It was
summer, and the day was sunny and hot.
Abernathy sat up straight and looked about. There were people everywhere. It was some sort of
festival, and everyone was celebrating. Across the way were a pair of jugglers. A clown walked by on
stilts. At a nearby table a small boy was having his face painted. Walkways bordered the lawn, the one
nearest him packed end to end with makeshift booths selling the works of artisans and craftsmen: glass
prisms, wood carvings, metal sculptures, and clothing of all sorts. Other walkways were jammed with
carts and stands selling food and drink. Garish signs proclaimed the types of edibles and libations offered.
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Abernathy did not recognize the names.
But he could read the signs. If he was not in Landover, he should not have been able to do that.
His first thought was, Where am I, then?
His second was, Why aren t I dead?
A man with long, tangled black hair and a full beard streaked with purple dye stood next to a woman
with her hair braided in tight beaded rows tipped with tiny bells. Both wore gold earrings and neck chains
and sported matching face-painted roses framed in red hearts. They were staring at Abernathy in
disbelief.
Hey, man, that was awesome! the man declared reverently. How did you do that?
Was it some sort of magic? the woman asked.
Abernathy had no idea what they were talking about. But he could understand them, and that was as
mystifying as being able to read the signs. He looked around in confusion. Music rose from all about,
mingling with shouts and laughter. The walkways ran past large stone buildings and pavilions jammed with
people. The buildings did not look familiar and yet they did. The music was of all sorts, none of it
immediately recognizable. It was loud and decidedly discordant. One group of musicians occupied a
stage that had been erected across the pavilion on the far side of the fountain. The music they played was
raucous and amplified so that it sounded as if it were coming out of the air itself. Flags and pennants and
streamers flew at every turn. People were dancing and singing. There was something going on
everywhere you looked.
Hey, that s not your whole act, is it? the man with the purple-streaked beard was asking.
C mon, do something more! his companion pressed.
Abernathy smiled and shrugged, wishing the man and woman would go away. What was going on here,
anyway? He wasn t dead, obviously. So what had happened to him? He ran his hands over his body
experimentally, checking for damage. Nothing seemed out of place. Two arms, two legs, a body, fingers,
and toes he could feel them inside his boots. All present and accounted for. He ran his fingers through
his hair, smoothing it back. He rubbed his chin and found that he could use a shave. He adjusted his
glasses on his nose. He seemed to be all right.
He turned the other way then and found himself face to face with Questor Thews. The wizard was
staring at him. He was staring at him as if he had never seen him before in his life.
Questor Thews, are you all right? he asked anxiously. Whatever in the world is going on?
Questor s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Abernathy was immediately irritated. Wizard, what is the matter with you? Has the witch s magic
rendered you speechless? Stop looking at me like that!
The other s gaunt arm lifted as if to ward off a ghost. Abernathy? he asked in obvious disbelief.
Yes, of course. Who else? Abernathy snapped. Then he realized that something was seriously wrong
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with the other man. It was in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the way he seemed unable to accept the
obvious, not even recognizing his oldest friend, for goodness sake. Shock, perhaps. Questor Thews,
would you like to lie down for a moment? he asked gently. Would you like me to bring you some water
or a glass of ale?
The wizard stared a moment longer, then quickly shook his head. No, it s not ... it s ... I m all right,
really, but you . . . He stopped, clearly perplexed. Abernathy, he said quietly. What has happened to
you?
Now it was Abernathy s turn to stare. Happened to him? He looked down at himself once more. Same
body, arms, legs, familiar clothing, everything in place. He looked back at the other, shaking his head in
confusion. What are you talking about? He had to speak loudly to be heard over the music.
The gaunt, white-bearded face underwent a truly incredible series of contortions. You ve . . . you ve
changed back! Look at yourself! You re not a dog anymore! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
Would she send Haltwhistle away? And Mistaya as well?
Mistaya s mouth tightened. Well, it didn t make any difference if the mud puppy wasn t there. She might
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
as well find out before she worried about any of the rest of it.
Haltwhistle, she said softly, almost inaudibly.
Instantly the mud puppy was next to her, staring down at her from out of the darkness with those great,
soulful eyes. Elated, she started to reach for him and stopped. You must never touch a mud puppy, the
Earth Mother had warned. Never.
Hey, boy, she whispered, smiling. Haltwhistle thumped his odd tail in response.
Did you call, Mistaya? Nightshade said from out of the darkness in front of her, and Mistaya s head
jerked up sharply. Abruptly, the Witch of the Deep Fell appeared, bending over her. Did you say
something?
Mistaya blinked and looked down for Haltwhistle. The mud puppy had disappeared. No, nothing. I
must have been talking in my sleep.
Good night, then, the witch said, and slipped away again.
Good night, Mistaya said.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked again for Haltwhistle. The mud puppy
appeared anew, materializing out of the night. She watched him for a moment, smiling. Then she closed
her eyes and was asleep.
Bumbershoot
The instant Nightshade s witch fire enveloped them, Landover disappeared and time stopped. Soft,
gauzy light cocooned Abernathy, and he lost sight of Questor Thews completely. He drifted, suspended
in the light, wrapped in silence and consumed by a numbness that emptied him of all feeling. He did not
know what was happening to him. He supposed that he was dead and that this was what dying felt like,
but he wasn t sure. He tried to move and couldn t. He tried to see beyond the white brightness
surrounding him and couldn t do that, either. He could barely manage to form a coherent thought. He
didn t even know if he was breathing.
Then the light disappeared in a sudden rush of wind and brilliant colors, and the sights, sounds, tastes,
and smells of life rushed back into focus with brilliant clarity. The lake country was gone. He was pretty
sure that Landover itself was gone, as well. He was sitting on a grassy flat that spread all around a great
stone basin. A fountain at the center of the basin spouted a plume of water that arched high into the air in
a feathery spray. Light caught the water and created small, shimmering rainbows. People were seated all
across the lawn and at the edge of the fountain. Children played in the fountain, having ventured down
into the shallow stone bowl, darting in and out of the spray, laughing and teasing one another. It was
summer, and the day was sunny and hot.
Abernathy sat up straight and looked about. There were people everywhere. It was some sort of
festival, and everyone was celebrating. Across the way were a pair of jugglers. A clown walked by on
stilts. At a nearby table a small boy was having his face painted. Walkways bordered the lawn, the one
nearest him packed end to end with makeshift booths selling the works of artisans and craftsmen: glass
prisms, wood carvings, metal sculptures, and clothing of all sorts. Other walkways were jammed with
carts and stands selling food and drink. Garish signs proclaimed the types of edibles and libations offered.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Abernathy did not recognize the names.
But he could read the signs. If he was not in Landover, he should not have been able to do that.
His first thought was, Where am I, then?
His second was, Why aren t I dead?
A man with long, tangled black hair and a full beard streaked with purple dye stood next to a woman
with her hair braided in tight beaded rows tipped with tiny bells. Both wore gold earrings and neck chains
and sported matching face-painted roses framed in red hearts. They were staring at Abernathy in
disbelief.
Hey, man, that was awesome! the man declared reverently. How did you do that?
Was it some sort of magic? the woman asked.
Abernathy had no idea what they were talking about. But he could understand them, and that was as
mystifying as being able to read the signs. He looked around in confusion. Music rose from all about,
mingling with shouts and laughter. The walkways ran past large stone buildings and pavilions jammed with
people. The buildings did not look familiar and yet they did. The music was of all sorts, none of it
immediately recognizable. It was loud and decidedly discordant. One group of musicians occupied a
stage that had been erected across the pavilion on the far side of the fountain. The music they played was
raucous and amplified so that it sounded as if it were coming out of the air itself. Flags and pennants and
streamers flew at every turn. People were dancing and singing. There was something going on
everywhere you looked.
Hey, that s not your whole act, is it? the man with the purple-streaked beard was asking.
C mon, do something more! his companion pressed.
Abernathy smiled and shrugged, wishing the man and woman would go away. What was going on here,
anyway? He wasn t dead, obviously. So what had happened to him? He ran his hands over his body
experimentally, checking for damage. Nothing seemed out of place. Two arms, two legs, a body, fingers,
and toes he could feel them inside his boots. All present and accounted for. He ran his fingers through
his hair, smoothing it back. He rubbed his chin and found that he could use a shave. He adjusted his
glasses on his nose. He seemed to be all right.
He turned the other way then and found himself face to face with Questor Thews. The wizard was
staring at him. He was staring at him as if he had never seen him before in his life.
Questor Thews, are you all right? he asked anxiously. Whatever in the world is going on?
Questor s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Abernathy was immediately irritated. Wizard, what is the matter with you? Has the witch s magic
rendered you speechless? Stop looking at me like that!
The other s gaunt arm lifted as if to ward off a ghost. Abernathy? he asked in obvious disbelief.
Yes, of course. Who else? Abernathy snapped. Then he realized that something was seriously wrong
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
with the other man. It was in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the way he seemed unable to accept the
obvious, not even recognizing his oldest friend, for goodness sake. Shock, perhaps. Questor Thews,
would you like to lie down for a moment? he asked gently. Would you like me to bring you some water
or a glass of ale?
The wizard stared a moment longer, then quickly shook his head. No, it s not ... it s ... I m all right,
really, but you . . . He stopped, clearly perplexed. Abernathy, he said quietly. What has happened to
you?
Now it was Abernathy s turn to stare. Happened to him? He looked down at himself once more. Same
body, arms, legs, familiar clothing, everything in place. He looked back at the other, shaking his head in
confusion. What are you talking about? He had to speak loudly to be heard over the music.
The gaunt, white-bearded face underwent a truly incredible series of contortions. You ve . . . you ve
changed back! Look at yourself! You re not a dog anymore! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]