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lake s soul pulsed within its depths. It was still and lifeless within the Valley of Shale, empty of movement,
devoid of sound. It had the look and feel of a black hole, an eye looking down into the world of the
dead.
We will wait here, Bremen advised, seating himself on the flat surface of a low boulder, his cloak
wrapped about his thin frame like a shroud.
The others nodded, but stood staring down into the valley for a time, unwilling to turn away just yet.
Bremen let them be. They were feeling the weight of the valley s oppressive silence. Only Kinson had
been here before, and even he could not prepare himself for what he must be feeling now. Bremen
understood. The Hadeshorn was the promise of what awaited them all. It was a glimpse into the future
they could not escape, a frightening dark look into life s end. It spoke in no recognizable words, but only
in whispers and small mutterings. It revealed too little to give insight and just enough to give pause.
The old man had been here twice now, and each time he had come away forever changed. There
were truths to be learned and there was wisdom to be gained from a meeting with the dead, but there
was a price to be paid as well. You could not brush up against the future and escape unscathed. You
could not see into the forbidden and avoid damage to your sight. Bremen remembered the feeling of
those previous meetings. He remembered the cold that had worked its way down into his bones and
would not leave for weeks afterward. He remembered his pervasive longing for what he had missed in
the years gone past that could never be recaptured. He was frightened even now of the possibility that
somehow he would stray from the narrow path permitted him in making this forbidden contact and be
swallowed up in the void, a creature consigned to a limbo existence between life and death, neither all of
one or the other.
But the need to discover what he could of how the Warlock Lord might be destroyed, of the choices
and opportunities open to him in his effort to save the Races, and of the secrets of the past and future
hidden to the living but revealed to the dead, far outweighed fear and doubt. He was compelled so
fiercely by his need that he was forced to act on it even at the risk of his own wellbeing. Yes, there were
dangers in making this contact. Yes, he would not emerge from it unharmed. But it did not matter in the
scheme of things, for even giving up his life was an acceptable price if it meant putting an end to his
implacable enemy.
The others had forced themselves away from the valley s rim and drifted over to sit with him. He made
himself smile reassuringly at them, one by one, beckoning even the recalcitrant Kinson to come close.
In the hour before dawn, I will go down into the valley, he told them quietly. Once there, I will
summon the spirits of the dead and ask them to show me something of the future. I will ask them to
reveal the secrets that would help us in our efforts to destroy the Warlock Lord. I will ask them to give
up any magic that might aid us. I must do this quickly and all within that short span of time before the sun
rises. You will wait here for me. You will not come down into the valley, whatever happens. You will not
act on what you see, even though it might seem as if you must. Do nothing but wait.
Perhaps one of us should go with you, Risca offered bluntly.
There is safety in numbers, even with the dead. If you can speak with their spirits, so can we. We are
Druids all, save the Borderman.
That you are Druids does not matter, Bremen said at once. It is too dangerous for you. This is
something I must do alone. You will wait here. I want your promise, Risca.
The Dwarf gave him a long, hard look and then nodded. Bremen turned to the others. Each nodded
reluctantly in turn. Mareth s eyes met his own and held them with secret understanding.
You are convinced this is necessary? Kinson pressed softly.
The lines of Bremen s aged face crinkled slightly deeper with the furrowing of his brow. If I could
think of something else to do, something that would aid us, I would leave this place. I am no fool, Kinson.
Nor hero. I know what corning here means. I know it damages me.
Then perhaps...
But the dead speak to me as the living cannot, Bremen continued, cutting him short. We need their
wisdom and insight. We need their visions, flawed and bereft of understanding as they sometimes are.
He took a deep breath. We need to see through their eyes. If I must give up something of myself to gain
that insight, then so be it.
They were silent then, lost in their separate thoughts, mulling over his words and the misgivings they
generated. But there was no help for it. He had told them what was necessary, and there was nothing
else to say. They would understand better, perhaps, when this matter was done.
So they sat in the darkness and glanced surreptitiously at the shimmering surface of the lake, their faces
bathed in the weak light as they listened to the silence and waited for the dawn to draw closer. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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lake s soul pulsed within its depths. It was still and lifeless within the Valley of Shale, empty of movement,
devoid of sound. It had the look and feel of a black hole, an eye looking down into the world of the
dead.
We will wait here, Bremen advised, seating himself on the flat surface of a low boulder, his cloak
wrapped about his thin frame like a shroud.
The others nodded, but stood staring down into the valley for a time, unwilling to turn away just yet.
Bremen let them be. They were feeling the weight of the valley s oppressive silence. Only Kinson had
been here before, and even he could not prepare himself for what he must be feeling now. Bremen
understood. The Hadeshorn was the promise of what awaited them all. It was a glimpse into the future
they could not escape, a frightening dark look into life s end. It spoke in no recognizable words, but only
in whispers and small mutterings. It revealed too little to give insight and just enough to give pause.
The old man had been here twice now, and each time he had come away forever changed. There
were truths to be learned and there was wisdom to be gained from a meeting with the dead, but there
was a price to be paid as well. You could not brush up against the future and escape unscathed. You
could not see into the forbidden and avoid damage to your sight. Bremen remembered the feeling of
those previous meetings. He remembered the cold that had worked its way down into his bones and
would not leave for weeks afterward. He remembered his pervasive longing for what he had missed in
the years gone past that could never be recaptured. He was frightened even now of the possibility that
somehow he would stray from the narrow path permitted him in making this forbidden contact and be
swallowed up in the void, a creature consigned to a limbo existence between life and death, neither all of
one or the other.
But the need to discover what he could of how the Warlock Lord might be destroyed, of the choices
and opportunities open to him in his effort to save the Races, and of the secrets of the past and future
hidden to the living but revealed to the dead, far outweighed fear and doubt. He was compelled so
fiercely by his need that he was forced to act on it even at the risk of his own wellbeing. Yes, there were
dangers in making this contact. Yes, he would not emerge from it unharmed. But it did not matter in the
scheme of things, for even giving up his life was an acceptable price if it meant putting an end to his
implacable enemy.
The others had forced themselves away from the valley s rim and drifted over to sit with him. He made
himself smile reassuringly at them, one by one, beckoning even the recalcitrant Kinson to come close.
In the hour before dawn, I will go down into the valley, he told them quietly. Once there, I will
summon the spirits of the dead and ask them to show me something of the future. I will ask them to
reveal the secrets that would help us in our efforts to destroy the Warlock Lord. I will ask them to give
up any magic that might aid us. I must do this quickly and all within that short span of time before the sun
rises. You will wait here for me. You will not come down into the valley, whatever happens. You will not
act on what you see, even though it might seem as if you must. Do nothing but wait.
Perhaps one of us should go with you, Risca offered bluntly.
There is safety in numbers, even with the dead. If you can speak with their spirits, so can we. We are
Druids all, save the Borderman.
That you are Druids does not matter, Bremen said at once. It is too dangerous for you. This is
something I must do alone. You will wait here. I want your promise, Risca.
The Dwarf gave him a long, hard look and then nodded. Bremen turned to the others. Each nodded
reluctantly in turn. Mareth s eyes met his own and held them with secret understanding.
You are convinced this is necessary? Kinson pressed softly.
The lines of Bremen s aged face crinkled slightly deeper with the furrowing of his brow. If I could
think of something else to do, something that would aid us, I would leave this place. I am no fool, Kinson.
Nor hero. I know what corning here means. I know it damages me.
Then perhaps...
But the dead speak to me as the living cannot, Bremen continued, cutting him short. We need their
wisdom and insight. We need their visions, flawed and bereft of understanding as they sometimes are.
He took a deep breath. We need to see through their eyes. If I must give up something of myself to gain
that insight, then so be it.
They were silent then, lost in their separate thoughts, mulling over his words and the misgivings they
generated. But there was no help for it. He had told them what was necessary, and there was nothing
else to say. They would understand better, perhaps, when this matter was done.
So they sat in the darkness and glanced surreptitiously at the shimmering surface of the lake, their faces
bathed in the weak light as they listened to the silence and waited for the dawn to draw closer. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]