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.Steam hissed from the snow as Ohriman tossed the torch away."This ethran is a fool, Anilya," he said."The zombies would have made excellent shields if the Creel choose to attack again.""True enough," she answered, "but they were a mistake.A useful one to be sure, but not one I shall repeat.""This alliance you've forged for us is teetering on a very precarious edge.We should have gone on without the Rashemi or killed them when we had the chance.""No, Ohriman." She turned to face him."The Rashemi may be dangerous, but they are loyal to the wychlaren above all else.They will prove useful in time.""What of these swords-for-hire?" he asked, glancing toward the men at the top of the stairs."How can we be sure they'll follow through with this? Mere coin cannot buy that kind of loyalty.""Their rations and wine are drugged," she said."A derivative of Theskian thrallwine.It will keep them under control and, fortunately, not very bright.""And the vremyonni? He knows something, I can taste it in his scent."Anilya did not answer right away, though she was concerned about Bastun's knowledge as well.Looking back up the stairs she could see the tops of the Shield's doors opening.She could imagine what they might find inside.Dealing with the wychlaren was a nuisance.She despised their xenophobic views of the outside world.Rashemen was a land of power and the wychlaren merely caretakers until someone with more lust for battle came along to take it from them.A shower of sparks and steam rose as another of the zombies collapsed into the snow to smolder and pop."Perhaps you are right," she said at length, looking at the flickering window in the northwest tower."Keep a close watch on the exile.Do not let him out of your sight.""You think he knows?""He is vremyonni," she said."Musty old tomes and ancient knowledge are their lives.""Pity for them," he replied."No wonder he's leaving.""People abandon their homes for many reasons, Ohriman," she said quietly, more to herself than the tiefling, as she studied the high walls and towers of the Shield."Not the least of which is the idea of returning.to make it stronger than it was before."Ohriman raised an eyebrow, then smiled."You haven't drugged me, have you?"Her hand shot out, gripping his neck, but quickly turning to a soft caress as she pressed her body against his."If I had, you wouldn't have asked."She placed a finger across his lips as the smoke and ash of the dead swirled around them.And Narfell rose, by demon's crown, to ruin Ashanath,An empire born, Thargaun's glory, in ash of Shandaular,But the Nentyarch's prince, cold and cruel, theyoungest of his heirs, Remained within the broken Shield, his battle notyet done.The walls were drowned in blood and ice; the towersfilled with bones.Soldiers slain, forgotten names, to die for their kingin vain,As Narfell s prince marched through the halls tosearch among the dead.Within the walls, inside the halls; to steal theBreath, to seal the Death Of the Shield and speak the Word.Of the Shield and speak the Word.—excerpt from the Firedawn Cycle, canto XI+chapter eightJ3astun entered the hall of the Shield cautiously, taking in the high columns and their arching tops, the intricate stonework that had escaped the magical cold outside, and finally the grim scene of death that lay upon the floor.Few spoke as the Rashemi filed inside behind their ethran.Those that did whispered quiet prayers of peace for the dead.Thaena stood as still as the columns that lined the old hall, unmoving and resolute.Bodies lay strewn across the floor.Most still gripped the great axes favored by warriors of the Bear Lodge.Bastun viewed each with a grief that bordered on anger.He kept to the edges of the chamber, kneeling here and there to peer at scuff marks in the dust and the scratches on stone.He took note of all entrances to the hall.Aside from the main entrance and two side passages, there seemed to be no other way in—nothing obvious, at least.None of these could accommodate the force that must have been fought here, not in such a manner as to slay so many and leave none behind to lie alongside the Rashemi.More torches were lit as warriors filed past the dead, each performing their own rites of farewell to brethren lost in battle.Thaena approached the center of the bodies and knelt before a prone form that stood out starkly among the others.The dead hathran's ornate robes were singed and torn, hermask split down its length by a charred crack, the face beneath still hidden in death.Beside her, in pieces, lay her whip—a weapon that marked the hathran as much as the axe marked her fang.Thaena gathered these as she prayed and swore to make right what had gone so horribly wrong [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]