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Suthyran has entered our world, and his armies have already taken Zelloque.
Pethis and Coran are besieged. Caluur still stands, as do the rest of the
great cities, yet it is a grim time for them, and all are afraid."
"That can't have anything to do with us!"
"How do you know?"
Nollin stopped, puzzled. "We're so far away -- "
"Yet Suthyran's power extends even here. Did you not kill one of his servants
in Yasne?"
"I didn't know -- "
Ker chuckled humorlessly. "The one who holds Loanu's pendant is another of
Suthyran's servants. When we take it, his power will be gone."
"Why is it so important?"
"I only know there is power within it. I suspect -- ah, but it is better not
to voice such things. Let it be enough for you to know that great power is
locked within the pendant's stone, and with that power in our hands rather
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than Suthyran's, many human lives will be spared."
Nollin shook his head. "It's all so confusing -- "
The wizard nodded. "I understand. Do not worry about the war, or Suthyran. It
affects you little for the moment. The pendant is all that matters. Loanu must
have it."
Toward midnight, Hilan rowed over to the Serpent along with ten of his best
sailors. Nollin was waiting for him, along with another ten picked from his
own crew. Everyone wore good swords and carried crossbows. Leather straps
around their chests held extra bolts.
"Who's that?" Hilan demanded, nodding toward Ker.
"A friend," Nollin said. "A wizard Loanu brought here to help us take the
pendant."
Hilan just grunted. "Ready?"
"Of course."
Klaff had already lowered a boat and Nollin's men began climbing down the
into it. Nollin followed them and took his place in the stern at the rudder.
Ker came last and sat next to him. Something white glimmered in the wizard's
hands, and it took Nollin a minute to realize it was a wand.
The mooring lines were released and the rowers bent to their task. For a
moment Nollin turned and looked back at his ship. Loanu stood at the railing,
watching him, and he could imagine her smile of triumph. A bitter feeling rose
inside him.
His fortress resembled a mausoleum more than anything else, Lord Mur thought.
It now held more corpses than living people.
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He reclined in his throne, a bottle of wine in one hand. Tilting it back, he
drank until even the dregs were gone. Then he dropped the bottle and heard it
clink against the others already on the floor. He winced, swore, and picked up
a fresh one from the crate beside him. After pulling the cork with his teeth,
he took a long swallow.
Three days ago, his captain of the guard had started reporting the deaths.
Each person who'd drunk the poisoned water had slowly slipped into
unconsciousness, then convulsions, then death. He'd lost count after forty of
his friends had gone to meet the Dark God.
His captain of the guard had died the day before. Only then, when he was
alone, did Nissav begin drinking, and he hadn't stopped. Now his vision was
blurred and he could scarcely grip a bottle, but the haunting thoughts still
rang through his head as clear as a bell on a quiet day.
His fault. It had all been his fault. The Lammiats capturing Saliin. The
landrexi killing his peasants. Voyith poisoning the wells (and he was certain
now that it had been his chamberlain) -- it had all had been his fault.
He wept. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have listened to
Voyith? How had he let his lands, his life, be destroyed?
He hated Voyith. Again and again he vowed to find the old man and kill him,
despite his landrexi guards. But he lacked the force of will to do anything
about his hatred. Instead, he mumbled curses to himself, and drank, and cried
for what might have been.
At last he heard noises. Screams, he thought with a giggle. Dimly, he looked
up. The room flickered around him like a candle in the wind. The bottle
slipped from his fingers, spilling wine all over his clothes, but he scarcely
noticed.
Screams? He was certain he'd heard screams.
He got to his feet unsteadily and staggered toward the once majestic
staircase. Now ashes from the half-burnt walls covered it, and the unburied
corpse of a guard lay spread-eagled in its center like one last grisly
ornament.
The world blurred and twisted around him as he moved, the shadows distorted,
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a dull roar filling his head. His fault. All his fault. He seemed to be
walking in a dream. Somehow he found himself upstairs, in the unburnt part of
the fortress, near the bedchambers of Saliin's petty nobles. The corridor
swayed and he caught his balance against the wall.
The screaming started again, but it was distant, muted. As he watched, a pair
of landrexi dragged a fat old man out into the hall and tore him apart,
mandibles snapping like butcher's knives. Blood spurted high in the air,
spattering his face and arms, but Nissav continued down the hallway as though
he'd seen nothing.
Figures on the tapestries seemed to move as he passed them. They laughed and
beckoned to him, speaking in strange tongues which he could almost comprehend.
He wandered on. He found Voyith at the end of the hall. The old man was
laughing soundlessly, clutching the pendant around his neck. Without thinking,
Nissav tried to draw his sword, but couldn't find its hilt. He lunged at the
chamberlain anyway, trying to grab him by the throat, and as he leaped he
seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. Then Voyith knocked him down and
kicked him in the face, still laughing.
Nissav crawled to the corner and vomited. He could still hear the figures in
the tapestries calling his name. Turning, he moved toward them, toward the
peace and calm they seemed to offer.
As Nollin walked through the dark, deserted streets of the village, he grew
more and more uneasy. A deep, unnatural silence stretched around him. Not a
bird, not an insect made a noise. The only sounds were their footsteps.
Something terrible had happened here. Almost unconsciously he moved closer to
Hilan, drawing comfort from his brother's presence.
"The landrexi," Hilan said suddenly. His voice sounded odd and out of place
in the quiet.
"Yes," Nollin agreed. That had to be what had happened. The creatures had
destroyed the villagers, or driven them away. For some reason Mur had let them
do it. He felt a deep disgust for the Lord of Saliin and knew, then, that he
couldn't leave this land without seeing Mur dead.
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During his occupation of Saliin, Nollin had done as much for the peasants as
he possibly could. He'd made them bring in the harvest so they wouldn't
starve. He'd reorganized their fields. He'd made sure season's final plantings
were finished on time. He had felt a duty to the land and all its people.
Seeing both destroyed so meaninglessly outraged him. His heart beat faster and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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