[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
punishment such thoughtlessness deserved, her own fate and the Wizard's
freedom were now as deeply entangled.
Grown urgent at her delay, the white owl banked broad wings and flew. Kirelle
stumbled to follow. The ache in her assumed the proportions of despair, that
the threatening presence of three reavers permitted her no interval to rouse
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these trees to aware-
ness.
Against the mute void that heartlessness had allowed this wood to become, the
true-song of the Eld Tree rang in solitary splendor against the far distant
chime of the stars. Long before the white owl swooped to alight on the mighty
oak's branches, Kirelle could sense its power. Although leaves, trunk, and
branches embraced the earthly world, the taproots of this Tree bridged the
veil and sank deep into borderlands soil.
Yet reunion with the familiar brought no sense of rejoicing. The Tree's
muddied anger all but stopped
Kirelle's breath. Sour wind tugged her cloak hem and stirred the hair that
twigs had raked loose from her braid as her healer's gifts picked past raw
rage to bare the thread of stark pain underlying. A moment later, as the late
rising moon sliced torn clouds, she saw the gleam of the axe left struck in
striated bark.
Even from several paces off, the steel raised an ache in her bones. Fully as
hurtful was the blood reek of the stag, thanklessly killed, then gutted and
lashed to a branch by a rope that creaked in,the wind. Other unidentifiable
odors dizzied Kirelle's senses as she made herself close the last steps.
And there they were, three forms sprawled out on bare ground and wrapped in
bright-colored bedding that to Kirelle's eye looked light and fine-woven as
silk. They smelled of woodsmoke and damp leaves and the animal tang of dried
sweat. No aura of savagery warned which had cut the Eld Tree, or which had
slain the Wizard's owl. Asleep, the men looked innocent and ordinary, in their
way as dumbly vulnerable as this world's unloved trees. Kirelle saw nothing
she recognized as a weapon beyond the axe,
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though other steel things whose use she could not fathom riddied the site of
their camp.
Touched by a strange surge of pity, Kirelle shivered. The axe blade in any
earthly tree would have roused no uncanny reverberations. But with the Wizard
left trapped by the Eldforest's ire, her healer's preference for mercy must
not lead her to risk that the fey's cry for vengeance be balked from finding
expiation. The talisman stones must be set, and their dreams be given rein to
unravel three minds into nightmare.
The nearer man slept in a sprawl, one powerful arm clenched over his chest,
and his legs entangled in his bedding. He breathed in the rhythm of untroubled
rest and never stirred as Kirelle reached out with shaking fingers and tucked
the first stone in his palm. Softly, silently, she engaged the powers of her
art to sound his intents and make a weaving of his vulnerabilities.
Bill Farlane leveled his rifle. Equipped with the finest telescopic sight, he
aligned the crosshairs on the buck. The moment came back in perfect clarity,
from the clean bite of the wind to the winter-thin patch of sunlight that
danced on the deer's dun pelt.
He held his breath to steady his aim, squeezed off the round like a caress -
then felt the triumph in his gut freeze to horror as the deer dissolved,
replaced before his eyes by his daughter's pink and blue parka.
No.t - his thought too late. Already the report of the rifle spat its flat
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crack through the wood. Crows exploded into raucous, indignant flight. Pink
acrylic showed a blossoming stain of red, and a pitiful three-year-old body
crashed headlong into sun-dappled leaf mold.
'Nice shot!' Rafe said, his personal brand of sarcasm making even praise feel
like insult.
Bill straightened, mouth opened to cry Sallie's name.
But to his utter terror, his heartdeep cry of grief emerged as banal
conversation. 'It was a nice shot, darned if it wasn't.'
Those words, he thought wildly, they'd been said over a deer. But no buck lay
in the clearing. Only
Sallie, dreadfully bloody and still. The rifle still warm in his hand had shot
her cold, and like some ugly, played-over script, Alan's voice was repeating,
'Well, fine. You've bagged your trophy. For the love of mike, go
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1/22/2007
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Do...
in quickly. Make sure the shot was clean and use your knife if it wasn't.'
Bill screamed in impotent silence: That's my daughter. Yet the words stayed
mired in his head. His shoulders set for a satisfied swagger, he ejected the
spent shell and laid his rifle against a tree. Locked into actions that denied
his raw grief, reft of all power to stop himself, he saw that willpower and
muscle, all of his prideful strength and competence were going to do him no
good. He was going to rise, going to walk, going to kneel down by his little
dead daughter, and dress out her body as he should have done the killed meat
of a deer.
While Rare said something ordinary and Alan gave a meaningless reply, Bill
felt himself rise from his stalking crouch and heft his new knife in his hand.
The first step toward Sallie's body tore him to inward shreds; he knew, oh god [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
punishment such thoughtlessness deserved, her own fate and the Wizard's
freedom were now as deeply entangled.
Grown urgent at her delay, the white owl banked broad wings and flew. Kirelle
stumbled to follow. The ache in her assumed the proportions of despair, that
the threatening presence of three reavers permitted her no interval to rouse
Page 160
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
these trees to aware-
ness.
Against the mute void that heartlessness had allowed this wood to become, the
true-song of the Eld Tree rang in solitary splendor against the far distant
chime of the stars. Long before the white owl swooped to alight on the mighty
oak's branches, Kirelle could sense its power. Although leaves, trunk, and
branches embraced the earthly world, the taproots of this Tree bridged the
veil and sank deep into borderlands soil.
Yet reunion with the familiar brought no sense of rejoicing. The Tree's
muddied anger all but stopped
Kirelle's breath. Sour wind tugged her cloak hem and stirred the hair that
twigs had raked loose from her braid as her healer's gifts picked past raw
rage to bare the thread of stark pain underlying. A moment later, as the late
rising moon sliced torn clouds, she saw the gleam of the axe left struck in
striated bark.
Even from several paces off, the steel raised an ache in her bones. Fully as
hurtful was the blood reek of the stag, thanklessly killed, then gutted and
lashed to a branch by a rope that creaked in,the wind. Other unidentifiable
odors dizzied Kirelle's senses as she made herself close the last steps.
And there they were, three forms sprawled out on bare ground and wrapped in
bright-colored bedding that to Kirelle's eye looked light and fine-woven as
silk. They smelled of woodsmoke and damp leaves and the animal tang of dried
sweat. No aura of savagery warned which had cut the Eld Tree, or which had
slain the Wizard's owl. Asleep, the men looked innocent and ordinary, in their
way as dumbly vulnerable as this world's unloved trees. Kirelle saw nothing
she recognized as a weapon beyond the axe,
227
Page 213 of 292
1/22/2007
file://C:\Documents and Settings\My Computer\My Documents\My Winmx and eMule
Do...
though other steel things whose use she could not fathom riddied the site of
their camp.
Touched by a strange surge of pity, Kirelle shivered. The axe blade in any
earthly tree would have roused no uncanny reverberations. But with the Wizard
left trapped by the Eldforest's ire, her healer's preference for mercy must
not lead her to risk that the fey's cry for vengeance be balked from finding
expiation. The talisman stones must be set, and their dreams be given rein to
unravel three minds into nightmare.
The nearer man slept in a sprawl, one powerful arm clenched over his chest,
and his legs entangled in his bedding. He breathed in the rhythm of untroubled
rest and never stirred as Kirelle reached out with shaking fingers and tucked
the first stone in his palm. Softly, silently, she engaged the powers of her
art to sound his intents and make a weaving of his vulnerabilities.
Bill Farlane leveled his rifle. Equipped with the finest telescopic sight, he
aligned the crosshairs on the buck. The moment came back in perfect clarity,
from the clean bite of the wind to the winter-thin patch of sunlight that
danced on the deer's dun pelt.
He held his breath to steady his aim, squeezed off the round like a caress -
then felt the triumph in his gut freeze to horror as the deer dissolved,
replaced before his eyes by his daughter's pink and blue parka.
No.t - his thought too late. Already the report of the rifle spat its flat
Page 161
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
crack through the wood. Crows exploded into raucous, indignant flight. Pink
acrylic showed a blossoming stain of red, and a pitiful three-year-old body
crashed headlong into sun-dappled leaf mold.
'Nice shot!' Rafe said, his personal brand of sarcasm making even praise feel
like insult.
Bill straightened, mouth opened to cry Sallie's name.
But to his utter terror, his heartdeep cry of grief emerged as banal
conversation. 'It was a nice shot, darned if it wasn't.'
Those words, he thought wildly, they'd been said over a deer. But no buck lay
in the clearing. Only
Sallie, dreadfully bloody and still. The rifle still warm in his hand had shot
her cold, and like some ugly, played-over script, Alan's voice was repeating,
'Well, fine. You've bagged your trophy. For the love of mike, go
228
Page 214 of 292
1/22/2007
file://C:\Documents and Settings\My Computer\My Documents\My Winmx and eMule
Do...
in quickly. Make sure the shot was clean and use your knife if it wasn't.'
Bill screamed in impotent silence: That's my daughter. Yet the words stayed
mired in his head. His shoulders set for a satisfied swagger, he ejected the
spent shell and laid his rifle against a tree. Locked into actions that denied
his raw grief, reft of all power to stop himself, he saw that willpower and
muscle, all of his prideful strength and competence were going to do him no
good. He was going to rise, going to walk, going to kneel down by his little
dead daughter, and dress out her body as he should have done the killed meat
of a deer.
While Rare said something ordinary and Alan gave a meaningless reply, Bill
felt himself rise from his stalking crouch and heft his new knife in his hand.
The first step toward Sallie's body tore him to inward shreds; he knew, oh god [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]