[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
not written in at all, and some written in no language I ever saw. Strange as
it is, it could be the most valuable thing she owns. I'd hate for her to have
lost it."
"Rest easy, Morgan," he said, turning toward his shelves. "The book was on the
maid when she washed ashore. Here it is." He reached up and pulled down the
red leather-bound volume.
"Aye, that's the one. No, I don't have to see it," he said when Dain offered
him the tome. " 'Twas eerie enough at the first thumbing through. I'll not
need another."
"Magic again?" Dain asked with a teasing grin.
"Mayhaps," Morgan answered. "Or mayhaps it's something else. I'd not have the
book, but Ceridwen pored over it every night, and for her sake, I'm glad
she'll not have to do without it."
Dain put the red book back on the shelf, more intrigued than ever. If Morgan
feared to tread its pages, the chit's missive must be rare indeed.
Chapter 5
Dain stood in front of the tower room's hearth, holding the bundle Morgan had
given him that evening.
His friend had been right. There was not much.
He moved closer to the fire, running his thumb over the tiny braids of leather
tying Ceridwen's clothes and personal items together. Snow melted in the dark
folds of his hooded cloak and dripped onto the hearth to hiss and steam.
Winter was upon them again, lingering past its time. The soft, frozen flakes
had begun to float down while he'd waited for the Welsh prince and his men in
the small wood surrounding the tunnel entrance. More of a thicket it was than
a wood, necessitating an approach by foot, but the forest took up again near
the rivers, making a safe place to conceal a horse.
The Cypriot had waited there for him all day, with a patience no destrier
could claim. Dain had left the mare that morn, when he and Morgan had made
their first trip through the tunnel. As he'd expected, Morgan had not been
able to find her when he'd gone back through alone, and he'd looked for her,
long and hard. Nothing would do, the Welshman had said, except for Dain to
give him a foal capable of disappearing in the wink of an eye.
Dain smiled. 'Twould take more than the Cypriot's blood to enable another
horse to fade into the mists.
A curse echoing up from below stairs broadened his smile. He'd banished Erlend
to the alchemy chamber again, and the old man was not happy about spending
another night amongst the crucibles, flasks, and vials, and what he called the
"demned smelly" scorifying pans.
Shivering, Dain tossed an extra fagot on the fire with a liberality few others
in Wydehaw could afford.
The flames crackled with new life. Rare it was that he missed the heat of the
desert, but those years had weakened his resistance to the cold and exposed
him to certain comforts and luxuries he enjoyed more
than was good for him.
But if to be accused of decadence was the price of his pleasure this eventide,
he was prepared to pay.
He'd sent for Edmee and had Erlend heating water on all the hearths for a
bath.
He reached for the clasp on his shoulder to remove his damp cloak and stopped,
Page 39
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
warned by the frisson of energy sliding down his spine.
Instincts honed by a thousand nights of captivity stilled his body and slowed
his breath. Numa lay on the bed with her head poking out from between an
opening in the curtains, a low sound rumbling up from her chest. 'Twouldn't be
Erlend setting her off, he thought, though he had been surprised at the marks
on the old man's throat. Fortunately, the dog hadn't bitten as deeply as was
her wont.
He looked to the Druid Door, but heard no footsteps, felt no skulking presence
sneaking up the tower stairs. Next, he glanced over his shoulder at the hatch
in the floor, then at the door leading to the eyrie.
Nothing disturbed either opening. There was only Elixir sitting by the hearth,
staring at him with a near innocent expression on his
black-as-the-hounds-of-hell face.
The look, so at odds with the animal's usual aloofness, aroused Dain's
suspicions. He slowly turned back to face Numa and had his wildest conjecture
confirmed: The bitch was growling at him.
"Kom." His command was harsh, demanding. The situation with the maid had
gotten completely out of hand.
Looking thoroughly chastised, the albino began to slink off the bed. Another
voice coming from deep within the quilts and coverlets stopped her.
"Numa, stay."
And the bitch did.
Anarchy was a novelty within the curved walls of theHartTower . As a
diversion, it was not welcome.
Dain set the bundle on the table and walked toward the bed, tilting his head
to see past the partially drawn curtains. He didn't call the dog again. The
battle lines being drawn were beyond her ken.
Ceridwen clutched the sheets and quilts to her chest, her fingers digging into
the thick sable fur lining the topmost coverlet. Fear pounded through her
heart on every breath, telling her to flee, but flight was no option. Her head
ached to near blindness, and her senses were not sharp. Her ankle was broken
and weighted down with splint and bandages too heavy to lift. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
not written in at all, and some written in no language I ever saw. Strange as
it is, it could be the most valuable thing she owns. I'd hate for her to have
lost it."
"Rest easy, Morgan," he said, turning toward his shelves. "The book was on the
maid when she washed ashore. Here it is." He reached up and pulled down the
red leather-bound volume.
"Aye, that's the one. No, I don't have to see it," he said when Dain offered
him the tome. " 'Twas eerie enough at the first thumbing through. I'll not
need another."
"Magic again?" Dain asked with a teasing grin.
"Mayhaps," Morgan answered. "Or mayhaps it's something else. I'd not have the
book, but Ceridwen pored over it every night, and for her sake, I'm glad
she'll not have to do without it."
Dain put the red book back on the shelf, more intrigued than ever. If Morgan
feared to tread its pages, the chit's missive must be rare indeed.
Chapter 5
Dain stood in front of the tower room's hearth, holding the bundle Morgan had
given him that evening.
His friend had been right. There was not much.
He moved closer to the fire, running his thumb over the tiny braids of leather
tying Ceridwen's clothes and personal items together. Snow melted in the dark
folds of his hooded cloak and dripped onto the hearth to hiss and steam.
Winter was upon them again, lingering past its time. The soft, frozen flakes
had begun to float down while he'd waited for the Welsh prince and his men in
the small wood surrounding the tunnel entrance. More of a thicket it was than
a wood, necessitating an approach by foot, but the forest took up again near
the rivers, making a safe place to conceal a horse.
The Cypriot had waited there for him all day, with a patience no destrier
could claim. Dain had left the mare that morn, when he and Morgan had made
their first trip through the tunnel. As he'd expected, Morgan had not been
able to find her when he'd gone back through alone, and he'd looked for her,
long and hard. Nothing would do, the Welshman had said, except for Dain to
give him a foal capable of disappearing in the wink of an eye.
Dain smiled. 'Twould take more than the Cypriot's blood to enable another
horse to fade into the mists.
A curse echoing up from below stairs broadened his smile. He'd banished Erlend
to the alchemy chamber again, and the old man was not happy about spending
another night amongst the crucibles, flasks, and vials, and what he called the
"demned smelly" scorifying pans.
Shivering, Dain tossed an extra fagot on the fire with a liberality few others
in Wydehaw could afford.
The flames crackled with new life. Rare it was that he missed the heat of the
desert, but those years had weakened his resistance to the cold and exposed
him to certain comforts and luxuries he enjoyed more
than was good for him.
But if to be accused of decadence was the price of his pleasure this eventide,
he was prepared to pay.
He'd sent for Edmee and had Erlend heating water on all the hearths for a
bath.
He reached for the clasp on his shoulder to remove his damp cloak and stopped,
Page 39
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
warned by the frisson of energy sliding down his spine.
Instincts honed by a thousand nights of captivity stilled his body and slowed
his breath. Numa lay on the bed with her head poking out from between an
opening in the curtains, a low sound rumbling up from her chest. 'Twouldn't be
Erlend setting her off, he thought, though he had been surprised at the marks
on the old man's throat. Fortunately, the dog hadn't bitten as deeply as was
her wont.
He looked to the Druid Door, but heard no footsteps, felt no skulking presence
sneaking up the tower stairs. Next, he glanced over his shoulder at the hatch
in the floor, then at the door leading to the eyrie.
Nothing disturbed either opening. There was only Elixir sitting by the hearth,
staring at him with a near innocent expression on his
black-as-the-hounds-of-hell face.
The look, so at odds with the animal's usual aloofness, aroused Dain's
suspicions. He slowly turned back to face Numa and had his wildest conjecture
confirmed: The bitch was growling at him.
"Kom." His command was harsh, demanding. The situation with the maid had
gotten completely out of hand.
Looking thoroughly chastised, the albino began to slink off the bed. Another
voice coming from deep within the quilts and coverlets stopped her.
"Numa, stay."
And the bitch did.
Anarchy was a novelty within the curved walls of theHartTower . As a
diversion, it was not welcome.
Dain set the bundle on the table and walked toward the bed, tilting his head
to see past the partially drawn curtains. He didn't call the dog again. The
battle lines being drawn were beyond her ken.
Ceridwen clutched the sheets and quilts to her chest, her fingers digging into
the thick sable fur lining the topmost coverlet. Fear pounded through her
heart on every breath, telling her to flee, but flight was no option. Her head
ached to near blindness, and her senses were not sharp. Her ankle was broken
and weighted down with splint and bandages too heavy to lift. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]