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"I was reading," Jaric admitted. "I didn't start copying until dawn."
"Well, then you're plenty tired." Head cocked like a bird, the priest thumbed
through the pages piled at
Jane's elbow. The script was clean and straight, and probably without errors;
whatever the scarred state of his hands, this boy had been trained well.
"You've done enough for one day."
Taen felt the ache of Jane's weariness cut through the dream-link as he rose
to his feet. "I can go?"
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The priest nodded. "Eat. Get some sleep. You'll work the better for it come
morning."
But rest never entered Jaric's mind as he pushed back his stool and picked a
path through the stacks to the door. The boy
Moonless had delivered to Landfast was changing, Taen perceived. The teaching
of Corley and another swordsman called Brith had bent Jaric's mind toward a
mold which accepted no excuse for weakness. More and more, necessity forced
him to set aside the fears which had poisoned his childhood at
Morbrith. He remembered to buckle on sword and dagger before he entered the
streets. Now better acquainted with Landfast, Jaric chose back streets and
alleys least traveled. Within minutes he reached the dockside.
"Alms, young master," called a one-handed beggar who leaned on a bollard. A
mangy tomcat crouched by his feet, and clothes already patched shapeless
needed another round of mending at elbows, knees, and cuffs.
Jaric tossed the fellow a silver with the unthinking reflex of habit.
"Thank'e." The beggar jammed the coin in his boot and straightened with a
crooked grin. "Boat's bailed for ye, master. Best check the starboard bowline.
She's chafed a bit, from the storm."
Jaric paused while a wagon rumbled past. "I came as soon as I could." He
reached into his pocket, groped for another coin.
"Leave be, boy." The beggar shrugged. "I do well enough by you."
Jaric tossed a copper, spinning, into the air. "Take it for the cat, then.
I've no family to feed."
"Right, aye, then." The beggar caught the coin with the speed of a striking
snake. Taen saw him stare after as Jaric ran down the dock to the slip where
Callinde lay tied.
Linked through the dream to the boy's concern, the girl stepped aboard the
ancient boat. After a hasty glance to ascertain whether the floorboards were
dry, Jaric ducked around the headstay and ran anxious hands over the dockline
the beggar had mentioned. Frayed plies scraped under his fingers; the rope
must certainly be replaced. Squinting against the low sun of afternoon, Jaric
bent and unfastened the aft locker.
He reached beneath the folded canvas of the headsail in search of his store of
spare cordage, and froze suddenly in mid-motion. Taen felt a chill jolt
through him. Startled, she shared the apprehension which tightened his chest
as he dug under the sail and dragged forth an object that could not have been
there, yet was. Jaric sank against the thwart, the cold, pale length of an ash
flute clenched hard between his hands.
Inlay flashed silver as he turned it. The breath came fast and dry in his
throat.
Moved to concern, Taen probed him and encountered stark edges of fear. She
never learned why. As if roused by her dream-touch, Jaric stiffened. He flexed
his wrists in sharp denial, and the delicate shaft of the flute snapped.
Splinters glanced in the sunlight, fell whispering to the deck; and Taen cried
out, for as the ash wood broke asunder, a wail of purest sorrow echoed within
her mind.
She protested without thought.
'Jaric, no!'
The makers of the flute offered their gift without malice. They wished only to
aid him, defend him from harm.
But the words of the Dreamweaver in his mind only caused the boy to start up
in alarm. With a guilty gesture, he tossed the broken instrument into the
harbor. As it sank from sight, Taen saw that memory of its origin was linked
to another event Jaric had determined to hide. Reflexively she pursued the
reason; and the dockside where Jaric tended
Callinde vanished, swept away by the whine of wind across desolate acres.
Taen looked down from the carved archway of a tower and saw a place of
treeless rock. Bare except for scabrous splotches of lichen, hills fell away
to a gray horizon. Trapped by dreams, the girl knew she gazed from a window
far distant from Landfast, beyond the borders of Keithland itself. Even as she
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wondered how a thought from Jaric's mind would lead her here, she sensed
movement in the chamber behind her.
'He will be all you hoped for, and more,'
said a voice whose overtones grated like rusty metal.
The words formed no language spoken by man, but, gifted with a Dreamweaver's
talents, Taen understood the meaning. Touched by nameless dread, she turned
from the window to view the chamber behind her. Within a vaulted hall of
stone, crimson carpets covered a raised, central dais. A mirror pool of
black-veined marble reflected a table and carved chair whose yellow-eyed
occupant possessed no human features.
'Bring him hither,'
bade the demon on the dais. His tone whistled like flutes. He leaned forward,
rippling skin all mottled and scaled like a lizard's. Orange spines tipped
fingers, ears, and the armored plates visible beneath the hem of the garment [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]