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a terrible face. From the remaining Toal came what sounded like a chorus of
sighs.
Gathrid wasted no time. In spite of, or perhaps because of, the horror worming
through his brain, his reason seized control. The other Toal would not wait
long. Nieroda was near. In his weary, bemused state he could not hope to
survive. That he had done so till now was a miracle.
He had to run again.
Daubendiek agreed, though it groaned its reluctance to leave a fight. Gathrid
whirled to flee.
Rogala seemed trapped in some interior universe of fear and pain. He, too, had
gotten a taste of the thing that had possessed the Dead Captain. Gathrid
considered abandoning dwarf and sword-if the latter would permit it-before he
realized just how much he needed both. Rogala knew the caverns. They were his
only hope. And Daubendiek he needed for protection.
Shoving Rogala ahead of him, he ran for darkness.
As he plunged into the cave, he glanced back. His gaze crossed that of Nevenka
Nieroda. That cold, cold feeling hit him again, and he knew the horrors had
only just begun.
Chapter Four
Caverns
These caverns run for miles," Rogala said. A sourceless glow lighted their
way. The dwarf was evasive when Gathrid asked about it. Rogala was evasive
about everything. He either knew no answers or just hated questions. He
ignored or sidestepped every query. Gathrid had a thousand. The dwarf
continued, "I know most of them."
He did seem to know where he was going.
"Whenever an inappropriate Candidate stumbled onto us, we had to move," Rogala
said. "Furniture and all. That damned coffin weighs a ton. But that's all over
now, Suchara be praised. The time has come. The blood will flow again. What's
the matter?"
"Did you hear something?" Rogala had remarkably acute senses when he bothered
to pay attention.
"No." The dwarf listened intently. "I don't hear anything."
"Maybe I didn't either, then. I thought something was behind us." Gathrid now
wore Daubendiek scab-barded down his back. It no longer fed him false courage.
He was just a confused, frightened boy pretending self-assurance. He prayed
Rogala would not sense his growing dependence.
The dwarf, bad company as he was, kept the youth from dwelling on his family's
fate. Yet Gathrid could not force Anyeck out of mind completely. Poor spoiled
child....
Oh, but his leg ached. He wanted so badly to rest.
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Rogala's grim eyes probed the darkness behind him. "I don't think they're down
here. They could be following upstairs. Don't worry. We'll shake them."
Later, Gathrid asked, "Why did you pick me?"
"Daubendiek chose." It was the same answer to the same question asked the
dozenth time. There were many more that Rogala simply refused to hear. How
long ago had he been chosen? Plauen seemed to have suspected something. Had
the blade drawn him to it? Had it drawn the Mindak to Kacalief ?
Rogala would not talk.
"Why me?" Gathrid demanded.
"The will of Suchara."
That was all he could get.
About who or what Suchara might be the dwarf remained determinedly vague.
Gathrid did learn that Suchara was female, probably creatrix of the Sword and
possibly a goddess. She had something to do with seas, or overseas, and was
bloodthirsty.
Though Suchara was mentioned in the legends of Tur-eck Aarant, she was even
more vague there. Gathrid was bewildered by all the mystery.
The dwarf did not make the ideal traveling companion. He would not talk for
conversation's sake. He spoke only to give instructions or to ask about the
world to which he had awakened. His few waste words were complaints about his
own lot. "The curse," as he sometimes muttered.
With every minute and hour that passed Gathrid felt more empathy for Tureck
Aarant. Aarant had had to endure the dwarf for more than a year.
Time lost meaning. Gathrid kept track by sleeps. Those were not pleasant.
Though he collapsed in exhaustion when the dwarf permitted a break, he never
slept the sleep of the innocent. His dreams were nightmares in which some
formless, shadowy evil stole after him, always seeking a chance to devour his
soul. He could not identify the stalker.
Sometimes he thought the dreams symbolic of his association with the Sword, or
with the puppet master Theis Rogala, or with the mysterious Suchara. As often,
he suspected his subconscious was reacting to being hunted by Nevenka Nieroda.
Whatever, it cost him invaluable rest. He became nervous and irritable. He
engaged in growling matches with Rogala. The dwarf began watching him closely,
obviously puzzled.
Shortly after the eighth sleep, Rogala announced, "We go topside in an hour."
"Finally. I hope it's daytime." His spirits rose. His strength and will
returned. "I've had enough of these caves to do me the rest of my life."
"Don't get your hopes up, boy. We might have to come back down." Rogala always
looked on the dark side. "Daubendiek...."
"Has its limitations. It's not ready for another of those... those... whatever
possessed that man. We have to stay out of their way till it is." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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